“I don’t know positively, but Mr. Saunders always attends to that for her.”
“Unfortunately Saunders is no longer president of the company, and the new head is a very different type of man. He insists on calling in all loans which have run for a considerable period.”
“It’s hateful of him!” Marjorie stamped with sudden fury. “Aunt Yvonett is trying so hard to pay off her debts, and she took this mortgage so that mother could have some comforts and proper care before she died. Oh, I can’t let him foreclose!”
Unconscious of Barnard’s intent gaze, she stared at the distant White House, picturesque in its setting; then with tired, restless eyes turned to look at the still more distant Washington Monument, whose tapering shaft seemed lost in fleecy clouds. She knew that hundreds of migrating birds nightly beat themselves to death against the towering marble shaft, a shaft as immovable as that Fate which was shaping her destiny.
“How much money does Aunt Yvonett owe the company?” she asked abruptly.
Barnard consulted his note book. “The total sum is eleven hundred and forty-three dollars and seventeen cents.”
Marjorie swallowed hard; the amount loomed even larger than the Washington Monument. Her first month’s salary at the Fordyces’ had gone to meet current expenses, and to buy Madame Yvonett a much needed gown. Where could she turn?
“I took over this business,” continued Barnard, “because I feared another lawyer might give you trouble. Why not let me advance you the money, Madge?”
“No, never!” Barnard winced at the abrupt refusal, and observing his hurt expression, she added hastily, “Your offer was kindly meant, Chichester, and I thank you; but accepting your assistance is quite out of the question.”
“I don’t see why,” quickly. “I worship the ground you walk on—Madge, darling, why must I give all, and you give nothing?”