“Oh, no, you are not, young lady. You are putting it on, and that does not suit a man of my caliber at all.
Instead of coming to me yourself, or even writing to me—instead of giving me your full confidence, and feeling sure that I, as your father’s old friend, would not be too hard on you—you had not the courage to do that—you sent a stranger to me.”
“I cannot understand,” said poor Leslie. Her heart beat fast. She felt quite certain now that some trouble was going to be revealed to her; she knew that the moment had come when she must exercise self-control. Happen what might, she must not give herself away. Another, a stranger had approached Mr. Parker on her behalf. A queer sense of heartsickness came over her; she seemed partly to guess already what was coming. Making a violent effort not to show the alarm which was paling her cheeks, and almost causing her heart to stop beating, she said quickly: “Please speak.”
Mr. Parker had observed her agitation and he now whispered to himself.
“She has done it; I am mistaken in her. I thought she was like my Jenny. She had the same voice, and something the same ways, and very much the same expression; but I am mistaken. There never could have been two Jennies in this wicked old world. I was mistaken. The child was like her in the external features only.”
“Please speak,” repeated Leslie.
“I am going to speak,” said the merchant. “I am disappointed. No, I am not going to be angry. I suppose girls, all but one, and her I won’t mention in this discussion, are alike all the world over. If they suddenly want a little money and remember that their father’s old friend can be befooled, being an old man himself, and tender-hearted, they yielded to temptation. You are like the rest, Miss Leslie; just like the rest. Your mother
shall never know, nor that brave brother of yours. I won’t say another word when I have had my say out today; but, my dear, let me ask you just once, why did you do it?”
“Oh, you are driving me mad,” said poor Leslie. “You are talking about something I did; but I don’t know yet what I did. Do speak.”
“You don’t know about that sixty pounds. Come, now, that’s putting it on too fine. You went into debt for sixty pounds, and were afraid, and sent that other girl, Annie Colchester, whose shoes you are not fit to black, for the money. I gave it to her, of course, for your letter was so pitiable; but I did not tell her that I was coming down the next day to inquire into this matter myself.”