“Then he renounced all his most valuable possessions because a poor common man needed the sacrifice.”
“Sounds like a medieval story,” said he with unconscious humor.
“It happened recently,” rejoined Hilda. “I read it in the papers.”
“Well, he blazed a good trail,” was Thorpe's sighing comment. “Probably he had his chance. We don't all of us get that. Things go crooked and get tangled up, so we have to do the best we can. I don't believe I'd have done it.”
“Oh, you are delicious!” she cried.
After a time she said very humbly: “I want to beg your pardon for misunderstanding you and causing you so much suffering. I was very stupid, and didn't see why you could not do as I wanted you to.”
“That is nothing to forgive. I acted like a fool.”
“I have known about you,” she went on. “It has all come out in the Telegram. It has been very exciting. Poor boy, you look tired.”
He straightened himself suddenly. “I have forgotten,—actually forgotten,” he cried a little bitterly. “Why, I am a pauper, a bankrupt, I—”
“Harry,” she interrupted gently, but very firmly, “you must not say what you were going to say. I cannot allow it. Money came between us before. It must not do so again. Am I not right, dear?”