"Ah-huh!" the exclamation was trenchant with meaning. "Twenty dollars, if it's anything to you."
"I'll pay it. I think I heard the woman say she was ill."
"She says she is."
"May I be of any assistance?"
"Ask her."
Lane glanced into the little room, a counterpart of his. But it was so dark he could see nothing distinctly.
"May I come in? Let me raise the blind. There, the sun is fine this morning. Now, may I not—-"
He looked down at a curly head and a sweet pretty face that he knew.
"I know you," he said, groping among past associations.
"I am Rose Clymer," she whispered, and a momentary color came into her wan cheeks.