"I know you are," she replied eagerly, and her eyes brightened. "Your sympathy has meant so much to Aunt Pat and me. And now, before worse things happen—"
"Worse things must not happen!"
"Then we must put an end to it all, Mr. Donovan. There is only one way. My father will never leave here until Aunt Pat has settled with him. And it is his right to demand it," she hurried on. "I would have you know that he is not as black as he has been painted. He has been his own worst enemy; and Uncle Arthur's ill-doings must not be charged to him. But he has been wrong, terribly wrong, in his conduct toward Aunt Pat. I do not deny that, and he does not. But it is only a matter of money, and Aunt Pat has plenty of it; and there can be no question of honor between Uncle Arthur and father. It was Uncle Arthur's act that caused all this trouble; father has told me the whole story. Quite likely father would make no good use of his money—I will grant that. But think of the strain of these years on all of us; think of what it has meant to me, to have this cloud hanging over my life! It is dreadful—beyond any words it is hideous; and I can't stand it any longer, not another week—not another day! It must end now and here."
Her tear-filled eyes rested upon me pleadingly, and a sob caught her throat as she tried to go on.
"But—" I began.
"Please—please!" she broke in, touching her handkerchief to her eyes and smiling appealingly. "I am asking very little of you, after all."
"Yes, it is little enough; but it seems to me a futile interference. If your father would go to her himself, if you would take him to her—that strikes me as the better strategy of the matter."
"Then am I to understand that you will not help; that you will not do this for us—for me?"
"I am sorry to have to say no, Miss Holbrook," I replied steadily.
"Then I regret that I shall have to go further; I must appeal to you as a personal matter purely. It is not easy; but if we are really very good friends—"