"I never dreamed you'd learn about it," her brother protested. "When Norvin asked me if you'd like to be Queen I forbade him to mention it to you, for I couldn't afford the expense. But he told you in spite of me, and when I saw your heart was set on it—I—I just couldn't refuse. I allowed him to loan me the money."
"Bernie! Bernie!" Myra Nell rose and, turning her back upon him, stared out of the window into the dusk of the evening. At length she said, with a strange catch in her voice, "You're an anxious comfort, Bernie, for an orphan girl." Another moment passed in silence before he ventured:
"You see, I knew he'd marry you sooner or later, so it wasn't really a loan." He saw the color flood her neck and cheek at his words, but he was unprepared for her reply.
"I'll never marry him now; I'll never speak to him again."
"Why not?"
"Can't you understand? Do you think I'm entirely lacking in pride? What kind of man can he be to tell of his loan, to make it public that the very dresses which cover me were bought with his money?" She turned upon her half-brother with clenched hands and eyes which were gleaming through tears of indignation. "I could kill him for that."
"He didn't tell," Bernie blurted out.
"He must have. Nobody knew it except you—" Her eyes widened; she hesitated. "You?" she gasped.
It was indeed, the hour of Bernie's discomfiture. Myra Nell was his divinity, and to confess his personal offense against her, to destroy her faith in him, was the hardest thing he had ever done. But he was gentleman enough not to spare himself. At the cost of an effort which left him colorless he told her the truth.
"I'd been drinking, that day of the quarantine. I thought I'd fix it so he couldn't back out."