her errand flashed upon him, he turned a furious crimson. He made a step forward, but cautioned himself; then, folding his arms, he silently waited. Nora, after a moment's hesitation, rolling her notes together, came up to her cousin and held out the little package. Fenton kept his hands in his pockets and devoured her with his eyes. "What 's all this?" he said brutally.
"O George!" cried Nora; and her eyes filled with tears.
Roger had divined the situation; the shabby victimization of the young girl and her kinsman's fury at the disclosure of his avidity. He was angry; but he was even more disgusted. From so vulgar a knave there was little rivalship to fear. "I am afraid I am rather a marplot," he said. "Don't insist, Nora. Wait till my back is turned."
"I have nothing to be ashamed of," said Nora.
"You? O, nothing whatever!" cried Roger with a laugh.
Fenton stood leaning against the mantel-piece, desperately sullen, with a look of vicious confusion. "It is only I who have anything to be ashamed of," he said at last, bitterly, with an effort. "My poverty!"
Roger smiled graciously. "Honest poverty is never shameful!"
Fenton gave him an insolent stare. "Honest poverty! You know a great deal about it."
"Don't appeal to poor little Nora, man, for her savings," Roger went on. "Come to me."
"You are unjust," said Nora. "He did n't appeal to me. I appealed to him. I guessed his poverty. He has only twenty dollars in the world."
