While he was speaking, Star had drawn a little back, so that Mr. Rosevelt was between her and Mr. Richards, and he could not see her face at all.
“Uncle Jacob,” she whispered, close to his ear, “cannot we do something to help him out of his trouble? He looks so wild and desperate that he frightens me. He was always kind to me, and I’ll willingly give up California or anything else you please.”
Jacob Rosevelt’s face flushed hotly at these words, and a strange gleam came into his fine eyes. He appeared to take no notice of her plea, but after giving Mr. Richards their street and number, continued:
“If you have no other engagement, George, come up and dine with us to-night, and see how cozy we are. We have dinner at six, and as we leave for California on Wednesday night, I am afraid we shall not see you again.”
George Richards caught his breath with a sudden gasp at this intelligence, and Star noticed again that frenzied gleam in his eyes which had made her heart throb painfully.
“California, do you?” he said, trying to speak steadily. “Well, I will come, of course, then; for life is uncertain, you know, and I may never see you again,” he added, with a harsh, grating laugh. “Thank you for the invitation, and as I have no engagement, I will be on hand in season for dinner. But I must be off now, for I have agreed to meet a couple of gentlemen at twelve, and it only wants fifteen minutes of that now.”
He lifted his hat and bowed to them, then turned away; but the white-haired gentleman and the beautiful girl who stood looking after him saw the aged, dejected look return almost instantly to his face, and heard the heavy sigh that escaped his lips, telling of some fearful burden of care that was wearing his life away.
“So you want me to help George Richards out of his trouble, do you, Star?” Mr. Rosevelt said, on their way home, and his eyes rested fondly on the graceful figure sitting by his side, driving her pretty gray ponies.
“Perhaps it was presuming in me to ask you to do so, Uncle Jacob,” Star answered, gravely, and flushing a vivid crimson; “but I feel very sorry for him. He was kind to me in many ways while I was living with his family, and but for him I should have been made a common servant.”
When George Richards was ushered into Jacob Rosevelt’s luxurious and cozy dining-room that evening, where the table was laid with exquisite taste for three, his eyes lighted, and the look of care vanished as if by magic from his face.