CHAPTER VII.
It was a white-faced girl that appeared before Walter McAndrew and his
wife as they were seated at the dining-room table. Gloria had stood what
seemed to her an age by the window in her room, looking down upon the
card Dinney had left with her. At last she threw off her hat and jacket,
and, turning, went below.
As Mr. McAndrew caught sight of the white, strained face of the girl he
pushed back his chair and sprang to his feet.
"What is it?" he exclaimed.
But his wife gave one startled look and then bowed her head as though
waiting for a storm to pass.
"I've found it out, Uncle Em!" said Gloria, in a voice that was not
Gloria's. "Found out about Pleasant Street and No. 80." Not a jot did
her voice falter. She was looking straight into her guardian's eyes. "I
don't suppose you could have helped it. It was my property and you kept
it in trust. But--" There was a little wail, and the girl buried her
face in her hands and burst into sobs.
"Gloria, don't!" begged Mr. McAndrew, while his wife let the tears of
sympathy drip slowly from her face. _"I could have helped it--I could
have helped it!_ It is a miserably mean thing." Mr. McAndrew was drawing
his breath sharply.
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