"Well, I have had a rather strenuous day. In the first place, I got a letter from Henry Glave." Miss Eleanor's eyes opened.
"From Henry Glave! What in the world is he writing to you about?"
"He has offered me assistance," said Mr. Leigh. He took from his pocket a letter, and tossed it across the table to her, observing her with amusement as her expression changed. It, possibly, was not the Henry Glave she had had in mind.
As she read, her face brightened. "Isn't that fine! I thought he would—" She stopped suddenly.
"You wrote to him?" said Mr. Leigh.
"Yes, but I didn't know he would. I only asked his advice—I thought maybe, he possibly might—knowing how he liked you. This will help us out? You will accept his offer, of course?"
Mr. Leigh nodded. "I am considering it. It was certainly very good in him. Not every man is as grateful these times. My only question is whether I ought to accept his offer."
"Why not?"
Mr. Leigh did not answer for a moment, he was deep in reflection, reviewing a past in which two older men who bore my name had borne a part, and was trying to look forward into the future. Presently he replied:
"Well, the fact is, I am very hard pressed."