She folded up the money and pushed the notes inside her gloves. Her whole face had changed, and to John Saxon, who watched her, it had not changed for the better. The pathos and entreaty had gone out of it. It was a hard little face once more; and again he noticed that want of candour and that inability to look any one straight in the face which he had already observed in her eyes. He wondered uneasily if he had done wrong in lending her the money; but what was he to do? She must really want it, poor little thing! and after all, to Saxon, who was accustomed to great journeys taken at a moment’s notice, and who had visited America and most of the habitable globe—although this was his first visit to England—a little trip to Paris meant less, than nothing.
“When do you propose to go?” he said to the girl when they presently rose to their feet.
“I should like to go to-morrow; in fact. I must if I am to meet Mabel and Lady Lushington.”
“Then perhaps it would do if I broke the information to your uncle to-morrow morning?”
“Yes; that will do quite beautifully. Oh! I don’t really know how to thank you.”
“Effect your worthy object, Annie, and I shall have obtained all the thanks I need,” was the young man’s reply.