Mr. Moore cut her short with an impulsive explanation.
“I mean that I must help Dollie in some way or other, for I love her, Miss Marlowe, please tell her that I love her.”
CHAPTER XI.
EMILE VORSE IS CAUGHT AT LAST.
In less than two hours Ralph Moore came back and astonished Marion by handing her one hundred dollars.
He was as pale as a corpse, but was unusually calm. There was not a tremor in his voice when he urged her to accept it.
“Never mind where I got it,” he said, with a slight smile, “only promise me, Miss Marlowe, that you will say nothing about it. You see, my aunt and uncle might think I came by it dishonestly.”
“Oh, I am sure they would not,” said Marion, a bit startled. “I am sure they would be the last to accuse you of dishonesty.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Moore with another strange smile: “I’ve been a bit wild, and ‘once give a dog a bad name’—you know the rest, Miss Marlowe.”
“I would trust you anywhere,” said Marion, firmly. “Your heart is too good, you could never do wrong, I am certain.”