“Yes, I know it.”
“I wish I could hide it from myself. You shall know all, Lilian.”
“But give back the money. I would rather be a beggar and sweep the crossings of the streets, than live in luxury on stolen money.”
“Do not be too severe, Lilian. The bank will not lose a dollar by me. On the very day that we sailed from New York, Aunt Rachel died. I have no doubt that she left most of her property to me; and the bank has by this time been paid every dollar I owed it.”
“That is some comfort, but not much. You have ruined your reputation. Poor Aunt Rachel! I wish I had seen more of her. What could tempt you to go astray, Paley?” continued my wife, the tears coming to her eyes again.
“I was extravagant, and lived beyond my means. I borrowed the money to furnish our house, and I was otherwise in debt.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Paley? We all thought you were made of money.”
“I had not the courage to tell you.”
“I know I am giddy, and fond of dress and show, but I would rather have lived in an attic, and dressed in calico, than had you run in debt. You always said you had plenty of money, and your salary seemed to be more than enough to supply all our wants.”