"The selfish old sinner!" thought Mr. Ravensworth—and nearly said so aloud.
"Let me finish; she'll be here in a minute; she said she should come and apply to you. 'Does your husband beat you, or ill-treat you?' I asked her. 'No,' said she, shaking her head in a proud fury; 'even I would not submit to that. Will you lend me some money, papa?' she asked again. 'No, I won't,' I said. 'Then I'll borrow it from Mr. Ravensworth,' she cried, and ran upstairs to put her bonnet on. So then I thought it was time to come too, and explain. Mind you don't supply her with any, Ravensworth."
"What pretext can I have for refusing?"
"Pretext be shot!" irritably returned the Major. "Tell her you won't, as I do. I forbid you to lend her any. There she is! What a passionate knock! Been blundering up wrong turnings, I dare say."
Lady Level came in, looking tired, heated, frightened. Mr. Ravensworth took her hand.
"You have been walking here!" he said. "It is not right that Lady Level should be abroad in London streets at night, and alone."
"What else am I to do without money?" she returned hysterically.
"I sent the servants and the luggage to an hotel this morning, and gave them the few shillings I had left."
"Do sit down and calm yourself. All this is truly distressing."
Calm herself! The emotion, so long pent up, broke forth into sobs. "Yes, it is distressing. I come to England and I find no home; I am driven about from pillar to post, insulted everywhere; I have to walk through the streets, like any poor, helpless girl. Is it right that it should be so?"