His downrightness startled Nell, and she stopped and stared at him.
“You can’t help me if I don’t want your help,” she cried in secret panic.
“I cannot help you so much if you deny me your confidence,” he admitted. “But I stand ready to help you.”
“You’d better sit down,” she shot at him. “You’ll have a long wait standing for me to get confidential with you, Mr. Parson.”
“Consider,” said Hunt seriously, unshaken. “We cannot any of us afford to refuse an honest offer of sympathy and assistance.”
“What are you trying to do?” she asked with suspicion. “Trying to squeeze something out of me? You parsons!”
She muttered the phrase disdainfully. He put her rudeness aside without change of countenance. His placidity, his assurance, began to shake Nell’s confidence in herself more than any other thing.
“I have heard something. I have seen something. I know that if you will listen to me—perhaps accept and follow some advice I may give you—you will be benefited,” he said.
“In what way, I should like to know?” she asked jeeringly.
“In your heart. In your mind and conscience.”