“She ought to have something to thank _you_ for, I should say!” Miss Delacourt exclaimed warmly.
“I’m afraid not. I really feel in my bones that those crooks will beat me out of the property, unless a miracle comes along. I’ve been a poor sort of steward while I had charge of the money. I put every cent I squeezed out of the bankers into developing the mine, and saved myself by a fluke with the sulfur wells. Then all the money they brought in I’ve sunk in this theater game, without much to show for it, as you know.”
“Didn’t you keep a few dollars for yourself?” Louisiana inquired with childish directness.
“Oh, there are a few thousands lying around—enough, young lady, to have kept you going in Europe another year, and to put on this play of Farson’s. That wipes the slate clean, and I must pawn these duds to stake myself!”
“Maybe this play will make money,” the actress suggested thoughtfully.
“That will be the miracle, then!” Brainard exclaimed whimsically. “It will be a greater miracle than the one that made me into a millionaire.”
“Don’t you believe in Mr. Farson’s play?”
“Of course! But I don’t believe in our luck, nor in the people’s taste in drama, as I once did.”
The girl sat staring at the little picture, clutching its frame with her hands. After a time she looked up into Brainard’s face with a winning expression about her small mouth.
“I would give you pretty much anything else I have,” he replied. “But, you see, that sketch is all I have of Melody—supposing it was hers! You understand?”
“You have a good deal of feeling for this Melody?”
“Yes,” Brainard admitted, slightly reddening, and added more lightly, “She’s been my benefactress, you see.”
The girl raised her gray eyes and looked steadfastly at him. Her face was older, Brainard suddenly perceived, than he had remembered it. Yes, the trip abroad had done much for the wild young girl.
“Then you shall have it!” Brainard exclaimed impulsively, and added with another blush, “It’s about all that I can give you!”
“I know it—and that’s why I want it so much!”
After that there was a conscious silence between them, until Miss Delacourt rose to leave. She walked slowly to the door, as if loath to go; then she turned and reached out both hands to Brainard. He took them, and they stood facing each other mutely.