"And you will not tell why?"

"I cannot. I wish I could."

"Then, Elma, I also must be firm. I cannot help you."

"You will not ask your father?"

"How could I? It would be a subterfuge--the whole thing would be a subterfuge. I must have nothing to do with it. I am sorry, Elma, for I see you are in great trouble; but I am powerless."

"Then I am ruined," said Elma. She covered her face with her hands, and the tears trickled slowly between her fingers.

"I wish I could help you," said Gwin kindly. "Is there any other way?"

"No other way. I want eight pounds for a fortnight--I want it desperately. You could manage to let me have it without breaking the rules of the school, but you will not."

"I am truly sorry, but--I will not."

"Oh, Gwin, if you would only trust me. We were always friends, were we not?"

"Yes," answered Gwin slowly. "I have always liked you, Elma."

"We were friends," continued Elma, wiping the tears pa.s.sionately from her cheeks; "and I did think last night, when I was in such trouble, that perhaps you could come to my aid. I thought you would trust me without my telling you everything."

"I cannot, Elma," said Gwin again.

"Why?"

Elma now looked steadily into Gwin's face. Gwin looked gravely into hers. After a time Gwin spoke slowly:

"Because," she said--"forgive me, Elma--you are not trustworthy."

"Oh!" said Elma. She turned first pale and then red.

"There is no use in my staying," she said, after a pause. "I am sorry I got you up so early."

"Oh, that does not matter," said Gwin, in an altered tone. "I would do what I could to help you; but I cannot do the impossible."

"I see that I was mistaken in you."

"Not at all," replied Gwin. "You found me what I have always been. I am naturally careful. I never jump to wild conclusions; I am not impulsive.

I have liked you, and I shall go on liking you in the future."

"Even though I am not trustworthy?"

"Yes; I shall like you for what you are. You have always been nice to me, and I wish to be nice to you. Please understand that this will make no difference."

"And you won't tell what I came about?"

"No, I shall never mention it. Now, must you go?"

"I must," said Elma.

The full morning light fell upon her face as she spoke, and Gwin noticed that it looked small, pinched, and thin.

"You must have some breakfast first," she said. She walked across the room and sounded the bell. The servant appeared in a moment.

"Order breakfast to be served here this morning," said Miss Harley, "for two, please." The maid withdrew. Gwin opened the window and looked out.

"I am very sorry for Kitty," she said, after a pause.

Elma did not reply. After a time she said slowly:

"Did you see Miss Sherrard last night?"

"I did; but it was useless. She won't retract her mandate."

A sigh of relief came from Elma's lips.

The servant again appeared with breakfast. Gwin poured out tea for her friend. Elma drank a cup, her throat felt dry. She saw no way out of her difficulty. She could scarcely bring herself to eat.

A few moments later she was on her way back from Harley Grove. She hesitated whether to go straight to the school and wait there until nine o'clock or to return to Constantine Road. After a little reflection she decided on the latter course. She reached home hot and weary between eight and nine o'clock. Carrie was seated at the breakfast table; a letter lay on Elma's plate.

"Why, Elma, what have you been doing out and about at this unearthly hour?" said Carrie, as she cracked the sh.e.l.l of an egg by no means fresh.

"Where is mother?" remarked Elma, as she seated herself at the table.

"She has a bad headache. I have sent up her breakfast. Are you going to see her?"

"No, I think not. I shall just have time to eat something--not that I am specially hungry--and then start for school."

"There's a letter on your plate. Why don't you read it?"

"I know; it's from Aunt Charlotte."

"Well, well, and you are interested in Aunt Charlotte more than I am,"

said Carrie. "Do read your letter."

Elma somewhat languidly tore open the envelope. The next moment she uttered an exclamation, and her face went first red and then pale.

"Aunt Charlotte writes to say she is coming here to-day."

"To-day! Good gracious!" said Carrie. "She doesn't want me to stay in, does she?"

"Oh, no; but this is terribly awkward."

"Why so, Elma? Why shouldn't you ask her to lend you the money?"

"Ask Aunt Charlotte! I may as well put my hand into the fire."