``That's right!'' cried Stanley.``You can't do proper work in poor surroundings.Some women could, but not your sort.But don't worry.I'm going to see you through.I'll find a place--right away.
You want to start in at once, don't you?''
``I've got to,'' said Mildred.
``Then leave it all to me.''
``But WHAT am I to do?''
``Sing, if you can.If not, then act.We'll have you on the stage within a year or so.I'm sure of it.
And I'll get my money back, with interest.''
``I don't see how I can accept it,'' said Mildred very feebly.
``You've got to,'' said Stanley.``What alternative is there? None.So let's bother no more about it.
I'll consult with those who know, find out what the thing costs, and arrange everything.You're as helpless as a baby, and you know it.''
Yes, Mildred knew it.
He looked at her with an amused smile.``Come, out with it!'' he cried.``You've got something on your mind.Let's get everything straight--and keep it that way.''
Mildred hung her head.
``You're uneasy because I, a man, am doing this for you, a young woman? Is that it?''
``Yes,'' she confessed.
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and spoke in a brisk, businesslike way.``In the first place, it's got to be done, hasn't it? And someone has got to do it? And there is no one offering but me? Am I right?''
She nodded.
``Then _I_'ve got to do it, and you've GOT to let me.
There's logic, if ever there was logic.A Philadelphia lawyer couldn't knock a hole in it.You trust me, don't you?''
She was silent.
``You don't trust me, then,'' said he cheerfully.
``Well, perhaps you're right.But you trust yourself, don't you?''
She moved restlessly, but remained silent.
``You are afraid I might put you in a difficult position?''
``Something like that,'' she admitted, in a low, embarrassed voice.
``You fear that I expect some return which you do not intend to give?''
She was silent.
``Well, I don't,'' said he bluntly.``So put your mind at rest.Some day I'll tell you why I am doing this, but I want you to feel that I ask nothing of you but my money back with interest, when you can afford to pay.''
``I can't feel that,'' said she.``You're putting me in your debt--so heavily that I'd feel I ought to pay anything you asked.But I couldn't and wouldn't pay.''
``Unless you felt like it?'' suggested he.
``It's honest for me to warn you that I'm not likely to feel that way.''
``There is such a thing as winning a woman's love, isn't there?'' said he jestingly.It was difficult to tell when Stanley Baird was jesting and when he was in earnest.
``Is that what you expect?'' said she gravely.
``If I say yes?''
She lowered her eyes and laughed in an embarrassed way.
He was frankly amused.``You see, you feel that you're in my power.And you are.So why not make the best of it?'' A pause, then he said abruptly and with a convincing manliness, ``I think, Mildred, you can trust me not to be a beast.''
She colored and looked at him with quick contrition.
``I'm ashamed of myself,'' said she.``Please forget that I said anything.I'll take what I must, and I'll pay it back as soon as I can.And--thank you, Stanley.''
The tears were in her eyes.``If I had anything worth your taking I'd be glad to give it to you.What vain fools we women are!''
``Aren't you, though!'' laughed he.``And now it's all settled--until you're on the stage, and free, and the money's paid back--WITH interest.I shall charge you six per cent.''
When she first knew him she had not been in the least impressed by what now seemed to her his finest and rarest trait, for, in those days she had been as ignorant of the realities of human nature as one who has never adventured his boat beyond the mouth of the peaceful land-locked harbor is ignorant of the open sea.But in the hard years she had been learning--not only from Presbury and General Siddall, but from the cook and the housemaid, from every creditor, every tradesman, everyone whose attitude socially toward her had been modified by her changed fortunes--and whose attitude had not been changed? Thus, she was now able to appreciate--at least in some measure--Stanley Baird's delicacy and tact.No, not delicacy and tact, for that implied effort.His ability to put this offer in such a way that she could accept without serious embarrassment arose from a genuine indifference to money as money, a habit of looking upon it simply as a means to an end.He offered her the money precisely as he would have offered her his superior strength if it had been necessary to cross a too deep and swift creek.She had the sense that he felt he was doing something even less notable than he admitted, and that he talked of it as a valuable and rather unusual service simply because it was the habit thus to regard such matters.
As they talked on of ``the great career'' her spirits went up and up.It was evident that he now had a new and keen interest in life, that she was doing him a greater favor than he was doing her.He had always had money, plenty of it, more than he could use.He now had more than ever--for, several rich relatives had died and, after the habit of the rich, had left everything to him, the one of all the connections who needed it least.He had a very human aversion to spending money upon people or things he did not like.He would have fought to the last court an attempt by his wife to get alimony.He had a reputation with the ``charity gang'' of being stingy because he would not give them so much as the price of a bazaar ticket.
Also, the impecunious spongers at his clubs spread his fame as a ``tight-wad'' because he refused to let them ``stick him up'' for even a round of drinks.Where many a really stingy man yielded through weakness or fear of public opinion, he stood firm.His one notable surrender of any kind had been his marriage;that bitter experience had cured him of the surrendering habit for all time.Thenceforth he did absolutely and in everything as he pleased.
Mildred had heard that he was close about money.
She had all but forgotten it, because her own experience with him had made such a charge seem ridiculous.
