I think there is about three
hundred pounds to your credit."
"Sophia will have nearly as much. Call her, father. Surely between us we
can arrange five hundred pounds. I shall be real glad to help Harry.
Young men have so many temptations now, father. Harry is a good sort in
the main. Just have a little patience with him. Eh, father?"
And the squire was glad of the pleading voice. Glad for some one to make
the excuses he did not think it right to make. Glad to have the little
breath of hope that Charlotte's faith in her brother gave him. He stood
up, and took her face between his hands and kissed it. Then he sent a
servant for Sophia; and after a short delay the young lady appeared,
looking pale and exceedingly injured.
"Did you send for me, father?"
"Yes, I did. Come in and sit down. There is something to be done for
Harry, and we want your help, Sophia. Eh? What?"
She pushed a chair gently to the table, and sat down languidly. She was
really sick, but her air and attitude was that of a person suffering an
extremity of physical anguish. The squire looked at her and then at
Charlotte with dismay and self-reproach.
"Harry wants five hundred pounds, Sophia."
"I am astonished he does not want five thousand pounds. Father, I would
not send him a sovereign of it. Julius told me about his carryings-on."
She could hardly have said any words so favorable to Harry's cause.
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