"Oh, what shall I do?" she moaned, tremblingly. "It were a thousand times better, papa, if I had died with you."
The room door opened suddenly and without warning, and Mrs. Groves reappeared.
"Here's a young man asking for you, Miss Vane. P'r'aps he'll tell you how to make a honest living now your pa's dead," she said, with a coarse, significant chuckle.
She hustled the visitor across the threshold, and, closing the door, stumped loudly down the passage, but returned in a moment on tip-toe, to play the eavesdropper.
The room was all in darkness save for the gaslight that streamed through the open window. Laurel turned quickly to light her little lamp, wondering who her visitor might be.
To her amazement she saw the rather good-looking and bold-eyed clerk she had met at the publishing-house that morning.
"Good evening, Miss Vane," he said, insinuatingly. "I ventured to call, thinking that you might need a friend."
The quick instinct of purity took alarm in Laurel's breast. She drew back coldly as he offered her his smooth, white hand.
"I needed a friend this morning, but you did not seem to remember it then," she said, scathingly.
"I—ah—oh, I was taken by surprise, then. I had not my wits about me," he stammered, disconcerted. "Pray pardon my forgetfulness. I have been thinking about you all day, and wishing I could help you. Here is my card. Pray command my services."