“But you cannot go without telling him, Annie. Of course, my dear, I could and would lend you the money, but even your friend is not so important just now as your uncle. He loves to have you near him. I wish you could have heard how he spoke of you to me. You were his sunshine, his darling, the joy of his heart.”
“I know I am,” said Annie; “and it is what I want to be, and love to be,” she added. “But you are here, and there is my dear friend, oh! in such trouble; and she trusts me, and I can put everything right for her. Oh! if you would only lend me twenty pounds—and—and—tell Uncle Maurice yourself that I am going away for a few days and will be back again very soon. Won’t you lend it to me, John—just because we are cousins, and you have come all the way across the seas—the wide, wide seas—to help me at this pressing moment?”
“You affect me, Annie,” said the young man.
“You speak very strongly. I did not know schoolgirls desired things so badly as all this. Twenty pounds—it is nothing; it is yours for the asking. Here, I will give it to you now.”
He put his hand into his pocket and took out four five-pound notes.
“Here,” he said, “if this will make you happy and save your friend from the fate of being a village dressmaker, take it, and welcome.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Annie, trembling all over. “Oh! I don’t know how.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replied a little stiffly. “The thing is a mere bagatelle.”
“You shall have it back as soon as possible,” said Annie.
“At your convenience,” he replied. He still spoke stiffly.