“Now I come to another condition,” Hilda said with some perceptible hesitation. “It is not a condition exactly, but an explanation. I have often wondered whether I acted rightly or not in the circumstances, and perhaps your view of the case may differ from the conclusion at which I arrived. The one man with whom I should most naturally have consulted in a business difficulty—Mr. Hemster himself—was out of the question in this case, so I tried to imagine what my father would have had me do, and I acted accordingly, but not without some qualms of conscience then and since. I fear I did not do what an independent girl should have done, but now that we have become so friendly you shall be my judge.”
“You will find me a very lenient one, Hilda; in fact the verdict is already given: you did exactly right whatever it was.”
“Sir, you must not pronounce until you hear. We approach now the dread secret of a woman with a past. That always crops up, you know, at the critical moment. I think I told you my father and Mr. Hemster were friends from boyhood; that they went to school together; that their very differences of character made the friendship sincere and lasting. My father was a quiet, scholarly man, fond of his books, while Mr. Hemster cared nothing for literature or art, but only for an outdoor life and contest with his fellow men. It is difficult to imagine that one so sedate and self-restrained as Mr. Hemster now seems to be should have lived the life of a reckless cowboy on the plains, riding like a centaur, and shooting with an accuracy that saved his life on more than one occasion, whatever the result to his opponents. Nevertheless, in the midst of this wild career he was the first, or one of the first, to realize the future of the cattle business, and thus he laid the foundation of the colossal fortune he now possesses. I can imagine him the most capable man on the ranch, and I believe he was well paid for his services and saved his money, there being no way of spending it, for he neither drank nor gambled. While yet a very young man an opportunity came to him, and he had not quite enough capital to take advantage of it. My father made up the deficit, and, small as the amount was, Mr. Hemster has always felt an undue sense of obligation for a loan which was almost instantly repaid. When my father died he left me practically penniless so far as money was concerned, but with a musical education which would have earned me a comfortable living. Shortly after my father’s death the manager of our local bank informed me that there had been deposited to my order one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of stock in Mr. Hemster’s great business. Now the question is, Should I have kept that, or should I have returned it to Mr. Hemster?”
“I beg your pardon, Hilda, but there is no question there at all. Your father, by reason of his most opportune loan, was quite honestly entitled to a share in the business the creation of which his money had made possible.”
“But the sum given to me was out of all proportion to the amount lent. It is even more out of proportion than the figures I have mentioned would lead you to suppose, for the interest paid is so great that such an income could not be produced by four or five times the face value of the stock. Then Mr. Hemster was under no obligation to have given me a penny.”
“Surely a man may be allowed to do the right thing without being legally bound to do it. I hope you accepted without hesitation.”
“Yes, I accepted, but with considerable hesitation. Now, I think Mr. Hemster would be greatly annoyed if he knew I had told you all this. His own daughter has not the slightest suspicion of it, and I imagine her father would be even more disturbed if she gathered any hint of the real state of affairs. Indeed, I may tell you that she has dismissed me since this Japanese Countess came.”
“Then we are in the same plight, for the young lady ordered me to resign.”
“And are you going to?”