Little dreaming of the purport of the story Ida had to tell, Royal Ainsley drew near. For a moment, Ida May's great somber eyes looked into his as though she would read his very soul.
"Tell me over again that you will forgive me, no matter what it is that I have to tell you."
"I have already given you that promise over and over again," he declared. "Surely you don't want me to take an oath to that effect?"
"Not if your solemn promise is strong enough to bind you."
"You forget that you are wasting time, Ida?" he said, good-humoredly.
"It will not take me long to tell my sad little story," she answered, with a half sob; "and oh, what a world of comfort it will be for me to know that you will care for me, no matter what the world may think. When you hear my story you will understand the great temptation, and will not judge me too cruelly.
"To begin with, my mother and I lived with a very wealthy family in Dorchester. My mother was housekeeper, and I—well, I had no regular position there, until, owing to the meager salary they paid my mother, I was compelled to learn telegraphy, and found a position at the station. To gain my mother's consent to do this was extremely hard.
"'They will not be pleased, Ida,' she said, piteously.
"'What do the Deerings care for you or me?' I answered, bitterly. 'Only to make you toil year in and year out for a pittance so meager that it scarcely keeps body and soul together!'
"'But they allow me to keep you with me, my dear child. That is everything to a mother who is poor,' she sighed.