"Do you wish a religious service?"
"Certainly not by the Reverend Tingley."
"Then I'll get somebody else. Anything else? Money, clothes?"
She glanced at him with all the sweetness and tenderness of her great love lambent in her wistful sea-blue eyes.
"What a poor thing is pride in the face of circumstances," she replied drearily. "I haven't sufficient strength of character to send you away. I ought to, for your own sake, but since you're the only one that cares, I suppose you'll have to pay the price. You might lend me a hundred dollars, dear. Perhaps some-day I'll repay it."
He laid the money in her hand and retained the hand in his; thus they sat gazing into the blue flames of the driftwood fire—she hopelessly, he with masculine helplessness. Neither spoke, for each was busy with personal problems.
The arrival of Mr. Carew interrupted their sad thoughts. When he had departed with the harvest of his grim profession, the thought that had been uppermost in Donald's mind found expression.
"It's going to be mighty hard on you living here alone."
"It's going to be hard on me wherever I live—alone," she replied resignedly.
"Wish I could get some woman to come and live with you until we can adjust your affairs, Nan. Tingley's wife's a good sort. Perhaps—"