"Won't you trust me, Tony? I'm
sure--_sure_ that I can get you out of this scrape."
He looked at her in blank amazement. But something in her face convinced
him that she was speaking the truth--that he could rely on her.
"If you do," he said, and his voice rang true as steel, "I give you my
word, Ann, that I'll never get into another. I'll chuck gambling from this
day forth."
"Will you, Tony? Will you really?" she cried eagerly.
He took her hands in his.
"I promise," he said simply.
The two strained young faces gleamed palely in the chill dawnlight--on
each of them the impress of a stern resolution. Suddenly, moved by an
irresistible impulse of compassion, Ann lifted her arms and laying her
hands on either side Tony's face, drew it down level with her own. Then she
bent forward and kissed his forehead--tenderly, as his mother might have
kissed him.
"Good night, Tony boy," she said. And a minute later her slender figure
flitted, ghost-like, up the stairs to her own room.
CHAPTER XXXI
A BARGAIN
The day after Ann's return to the Cottage found her occupied in the
composition of a letter to Brett Forrester, the number of torn,
half-written sheets of paper which surrounded her testifying to the
difficulty she was experiencing in the matter.
Pages:
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445