"Yes."
"And you have nothing?"
"At this moment I haven't enough ready cash to give me a decent burial."
"Don't speak like that." She rose impulsively, and unlocked a cabinet in the chimneypiece. "Here is a little—not much—a hundred dollars perhaps. I want you to take it; it's mine—some of my allowance. I want to give it to the party. And there's more. I've a mortgage—my very own. You shall have that too—for the party."
Shelby leaped to his feet as she thrust the bills in his hands.
"My God, Cora," he cried, "I can't take this—your pin money!"
She caught the notes from his protesting fingers and forced them into his nearest pocket.
"You shall," she pleaded; "you shall—for the party."
He seized her hands and bent to meet her eyes.
"Cora, Cora," he whispered hoarsely, "you're not doing this for the party! It's not for the party! It's for me, Cora, for me—"