Half an hour passed in conversation of a general nature, and then
luncheon was announced. When Paulina and her visitor returned to the
dreary room, they were alone; Miss Brewer had discreetly retired.
"My dear Madame Durski!" exclaimed Douglas, when the widow had seated
herself and he had placed himself opposite to her, "I cannot tell you
what intense pleasure it gives me to see you again, and most of all
because it leads me to believe that I can in some manner serve you. I
know how secluded your habits have been of late, and I fancy you would
scarcely so depart from them in my favour if you had not some real need
of my service."
This speech was peculiarly adapted to smoothe away the difficulties of
Paulina's position. Douglas had long guessed the secret of her poverty,
and had more than half divined the motive of her letter. He was eager
to save her, as far as possible, from the painfulness of the request
which he felt almost sure she was about to make to him.
"Your cordial kindness affects me deeply, Mr. Dale," said Paulina, with
a blush that was the glow of real shame. "You are right; I should be
the last woman in the world to appeal to you thus if I had not need of
your help--bitter need. I appeal to you, because I know the goodness
and generosity of your nature. I appeal to you as a beggar."
"Madame Durski, for pity's sake, do not speak thus," cried Douglas,
interrupting her.
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