"Do you love Drury Villard?"
"Oh, fondly, sir, but he is far above me! I would ruin his life—and after all his kindness to my father and myself, I can't bear to think of it."
"Well, now, little woman, just sit down in that big rocking chair and let me talk to you like an uncle who had your interest at heart. Villard is a sick man, and he hadn't opened your letter when I called upon him two weeks ago. There were many more and all of them more or less important. Yours was among them, and to oblige him I read all his mail."
"My letter, too!" blushed the girl—"and it was sacred—I meant it so."
"Yes, and it is still sacred, but now he knows its contents—and he might never have known had I not done a little secretarial work for him that day. He had ordered his mail to be thrown in the fire, but I was consulted, arriving as I did at the right moment. In due course I read your letter, and I sincerely compliment you upon your good sense. I count you as one of my friends, for I know you have nothing against me, so we may be quite confidential, I hope."
"Indeed we may, sir," assented Winifred in a very weak little voice.
"Mr. Villard trusts me, Mr. Sawyer trusts me, and hundreds of the best-known people in New York trust me. Now I want you to understand that every word I say is truth. I make my living by telling the truth, but in many cases it does not come to light. Now then, listen carefully—Mr. Villard is one of God's noblemen!"
"Oh, I know he is, Mr. Updyke!" assented Winifred.
"He loved a girl named Winifred many years ago——"
"Yes, I know that—too. She warned me of the accident, but in my eagerness to see New York I said little about it. But I did tell Mr. Villard, after I came to know him."