“Those were the words I used, Hilton Field.”
“Why, you are a criminal.”
She buried her face in her hands, and, as she began to sob, dropped upon her knees.
The banker was moved; he had loved this woman, who had introduced herself to him as the daughter of a New England clergyman, and said that she had come to New York with the intention of supporting herself by giving music lessons. Indeed, she bore letters of introduction from a man Mr. Field knew to be trustworthy.
He had helped the stranger along and often called to see her, the outcome of which visits resulted in a proposal of marriage, which was eagerly accepted, as he thought.
He was deceived.
Louise Calhoun could not marry the banker, and none knew this better than herself.
Her whole body seemed to shake with the emotions born of her grief as she knelt at Mr. Field’s feet.
When she removed her hands the old man saw that the face upturned to his was tear-stained and pale.
“How could you, oh, how could you?” she moaned.