"You can be my father-confessor for a minute or two, and then make out my last will and testament for me," Jerry replied, with a demure smile.
"So serious as all that?" York inquired, gravely, picking up a blank lease form as if to write.
"So, and worse," Jerry assured him. But in an instant her face was grave. "You know my present situation," she began, "and that I must decide at once what to do, and then do it. I'm so grateful that you understand and do not try to offer me friendship for service."
York looked at her earnest face and glowing dark-blue eyes wonderingly. This girl was forever surprising him, either by flippant indifference or by unexpected insight.
"You know a lot about my affairs, of course," Jerry went on, hurriedly. "Aunt Darby offered both of us—me, I mean, a home with her, a life of independent dependence on her—charity—for that, at bottom, was all that it was. And when I refused her offer she simply cut me until such time as I shall repent and go back. Then the same thing would be waiting for me. I know now that it was really wilfulness and love of adventure that most influenced me to break away from Philadelphia and—and its flesh-pots. But, York, I don't want to go back—not yet awhile, anyhow."
It was the first time she had ever called him by that name, and it sent a thrill through her listener.
"Is it wilfulness and love of adventure still, or something else, that holds you here 'yet awhile'?" York asked, with kindly seriousness.
"Oh, wait and see!" Jerry returned.
"She is not going to be led, whichever way she goes. I told Laura so," was York's mental comment.
"Does this finish your 'confession'?" he asked.