"
"Oh, well, I could offer her enough to help out a bit, anyway, and half
a loaf you know...."
He broke off, amazed at the determination her opposition had
crystallized. She looked at him sharply and rose.
"I must be running along," she commented as she drew on her gloves. "I
tell you, I'll go call on Miss Robson--some day this week. A woman can
always get a better side-light on a situation like this. There are so
many angles to be considered. She must have relatives. You wouldn't want
to make a false move, would you, now?"
He was too grateful to be suspicious at this sudden compromise with her
convictions.
"You're tremendously good," he stammered. "It _will_ be a favor. And any
time that I can...."
"You can be of service to me right now," she interrupted, gaily. "Order
me a taxi ... that's a good boy! I always do so like to pull up at a
place in style."
Stillman paid Lily Condor a third visit that week--this time in answer
to the lady's telephone message. She had been to see Claire Robson and
her report was anything but rosy.
"Her mother's perfectly helpless and will be for the rest of her life,"
Lily volunteered almost cheerfully. "And, frankly, I don't see what is
going to become of them. It seems that Mrs. Robson is a sister of Mrs.
Tom Wynne and that dreadful Ffinch-Brown woman. They both have about as
much heart as a cast-iron stove.
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