"Yes!" She looked up frankly, still smiling. "He has managed it for me."
"And it never occurred to you to apply to your guardian in such a matter? Or to your lawyer?"
She laughed—with what he admitted was a very natural scorn. "Ask my guardian to provide me with the means of helping the 'Daughters'—when he regards us all as criminals? On the contrary, I wanted to relieve your conscience, Mr. Winnington!"
"I can't say you have succeeded," he said, grimly, as he began to pace the drawing-room, with slow steps, his hands in his pockets.
"Why not? Now—everything you give me—can go to the right things—what you consider the right things. And what is my own—my very own—I can use as I please."
Yet neither tone nor gesture were defiant, as they would have been a few weeks before. Rather her look was wistful—appealing—as she stood there, a perplexing, but most charming figure, in her plain black dress, with its Quakerish collar of white lawn.
He turned on her impetuously.
"And Mr. Lathrop has arranged it all for you?"
"Yes. He said he knew a good deal about jewellers. I gave him some diamonds. He took them to London, and he has sold them."
"How do you know he has even treated you honestly!"