“Poor Leola, I cannot blame you,” cried the triumphant blonde, cheerfully, just as the door opened again, and Wizard Hermann glided softly into the room.
“Ah, Leola, you are better. I am very glad,” he said, in a smooth, oily voice, taking the chair Jessie vacated, saying she must go to mamma.
She nodded, wearily, without speaking, wishing they would all leave her alone, for every human face seemed hateful to her now.
She would not meet his eyes, or she would have seen that he looked ill and nervous, too, and that his always furtive, unpleasant manner had grown more marked and repellent still.
“Miss Tuttle,” he added, “you may leave the room. I have private affairs to talk of with my ward.”
When they were quite alone he turned back to her, saying, earnestly:
“I have come, Leola, to explain my private affairs to you, and to make one more appeal to you to help me out of my trouble.”
She listened without replying, the deep somber eyes fixed on the fading sunset beyond the distant hills, and Wizard Hermann continued:
“For years I have been heavily in debt, and had to borrow money from my rich neighbor, Mr. Bennett, to meet my living expenses and take care of you, Leola, in proper style for a pretty young girl. You have had your governess, your horse, your clothing, without a care on your young mind, but I, in order to meet your expenses, and keep this roof over your head, have been obliged to place a mortgage of fifteen thousand dollars on Wheatlands, and to-morrow the mortgage falls due. If Bennett forecloses, as he swears he will, we shall all be turned out homeless.”
It was on her lips to say that she did not care, that nothing really mattered to her now, but she bit her lips and held back the words, waiting silently to the end.