"You won't scold me, Effie?"

"As if I could, mother darling!"

"Well, perhaps I did a rash thing--poor dear George!--You know how devoted I am to him, Effie?"

"Oh, yes, mother darling, anyone can see that."

"Well, the fact is, I--I yielded to his entreaties. Perhaps I ought not to tell you, Effie--perhaps it will displease him."

"Yes, do tell me," said Effie. "There ought not to be any secrets in one's family. I ought to know--I will know. You are worried about something, and I will know what your burden is. What is it, mother?"

"I'll tell you in a few words. There's nothing in it, after all. Shortly after you left us, George persuaded me to put my money into the City Bank in his name. He said it seemed such folly to have two accounts for such very small sums."

"You did it?" said Effie, her face turning white.

"Yes, yes, I knew you would reproach me. I won't be reproached--I won't!"

"I will not say a word, dearest, dearest mother. Take my hand--your hand does shake so. Now tell me all about it."

"Oh, it's nothing, my love, really, only----"

"Yes, mother--only?"

"Only this morning I asked George to fill in a check for me before he went to town. He did so. It was for five pounds. He seemed vexed at my requiring so much, but I said I couldn't do with less, for there was the landlady to pay, and the butcher has been so troublesome with his bills.

I couldn't do with less than five pounds, and George drew a check for me for that amount. I sent Aggie with it straight to the bank, and----"

Mrs. Staunton's face became very pale, her hand shook more violently than ever.

"Yes, mother?" said Effie.

"They sent it back. Effie, with 'No _effects_' written across the back.

I am sure there must be a mistake, but they told Aggie that George had overdrawn his account, and that they couldn't cash this check--there were no effects, that was it."

"No effects!" said Effie, her face scarlet. "But hadn't you some of your money still left in the bank?"

"Yes, I had over fifty pounds. I put the money into the bank in George's name over a week ago. It was to last us for some time. Oh, Effie, don't look at me with those reproachful eyes! I feel faint."

Effie got up quickly; she poured some sal-volatile into a winegla.s.s, and, filling it up with water, brought it to her mother to drink.

Mrs. Staunton was soon better. The pa.s.sing weakness went off quickly.

"What is to be done?" she said, raising her eyes to her daughter. "Oh, I am so glad you don't scold me, Effie."

"Of course I don't, mother darling. You must have money, you can't get on without it."

"That's just what I say. I am sure I am as saving as woman could be, but the expenses are so heavy."

"Yes, of course."

"I'm expecting George in every minute," said Mrs. Staunton. "He has very likely put the money back into the bank now. He is doing such a splendid business that perhaps he drew the fifty pounds--meaning to return it at once. He has such a capital head for making money--really, I never knew such a boy. I dare say he has put it back _doubled_."

"Oh, mother, don't you know better?--how can he do that? But now let us talk of something else. Here's Agnes, that's right. Agnes, will you get some tea for mother? She's quite weak and upset. I'm going out. I must hurry, for I've to be back at the hospital at five. I'm going out, but I'll come to see you mother, before I return to the hospital. Get the tea, Agnes; don't be long about it."

Agnes put a little kettle on the fire.

"Do you know about--about the check?" she asked Effie in a whisper.

"Oh, yes; don't make a fuss over it--it will be all right."

"Mrs. Robinson says she must be paid--she is owed four weeks' rent, and she won't let it go on any longer."

"I'll see her when I come back," said Effie. "Now, do take care of mother. I won't be away a minute longer than I can help."

"Won't you have a cup of tea first, Effie?"

"No, no; I've no time."

Effie ran downstairs, and went out into the street. She felt nerved and braced now. The moment of indecision was past--the moment for definite action had arrived. There was no question with regard to her duty. It lay plain and straight before her.

She happened to know that the Harveys were in town. They were staying in Eaton Place. She took an omnibus, which presently brought her into the neighborhood of Victoria; a few minutes afterward she rang the bell at their hall door.

A man-servant, whom she did not know, opened it.

"Is Mrs. Harvey at home?" asked Effie.

"I believe so," he replied, "but I'm not sure if she can see anyone."

"Perhaps she will see me if you give her my name," said Effie in a gentle voice. "Say Miss Effie Staunton, please, and that I am anxious to see her on pressing business."

The man withdrew, inviting Effie as he did so into the hall.

"He takes me for a servant," she said to herself. "Well, what matter?

That truly is only a pinp.r.i.c.k."

In a minute or two he returned, with a changed expression on his face.

"Follow me upstairs, please, miss," he said. "My mistress will see you."

Effie followed him up some low stairs--her feet sank into the rich carpets. The contrast between this luxurious house and the severity of the hospital sickened her.

"I shall choke if I live here," she said to herself. But then she crushed all thought of self.

The men led her up two or three short flights of stairs. At last he knocked at a door, before which a rich curtain hung. A voice said "Come in," and Effie found herself in Mrs. Harvey's presence. She was seated in a deep armchair; her maid stood before her, holding out different rich brocades and silks which had just been sent round for her to see.

"That will do, Carey," she said, when she saw Effie. "You can take all those things away. Tell Madam Miller that I have decided on this blue silk crepon, and this rose-colored silk. I'll call round to be fitted to-morrow morning. Now, Miss Staunton, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. How do you do? I am so glad to see you."

Mrs. Harvey was not so impulsively glad as she had been the last time she saw Effie. The doctor's death--the death he had died for her--seemed removed into the background; her existence was absorbed in pleasure, in gayety and excitement. She had an affectionate, kindly nature, however, and one glance into Effie's sad eyes softened her toward the poor girl.