the boy. "Are you _sure_?
Quick!" A faintness was seizing her.

"Sure," answered the boy.

The girl laid a trembling hand upon the door. "I will get the money for
you, Dinney, when I know you are dead right."

The voice was not the voice Dinney knew. Looking at the girl, he saw
that tears had sprung to her eyes. She was fumbling blindly with the
latch-key.

"Miss Gloria," he said, in an awed voice, as he took the key and fitted
it for her, "don't you go to feeling like that." Suddenly he was a man
in his protective earnestness. "It ain't nothin' to you."

But Gloria had passed him and was already ascending the broad flight of
stairs leading from the reception hall. She had forgotten her key, she
had forgotten to close the door. Dinney thoughtfully took the key out
and placed it on a stand near. Then closing the door after him, he went
slowly down the steps.

Somehow the brightness had gone from the day--he knew not why. But
it was gone. He turned toward Pleasant Street--Gloria's "Treeless
Street"--but there was no whistle now upon his lips.

CHAPTER VII.

It was a white-faced girl that appeared before Walter McAndrew and his
wife as they were seated at the dining-room table. Gloria had stood what
seemed to her an age by the window in her room, looking down upon the
card Dinney had left with her. At last she threw off her hat and jacket,
and, turning, went below.

As Mr. McAndrew caught sight of the white, strained face of the girl he
pushed back his chair and sprang to his feet.

"What is it?" he exclaimed.

But his wife gave one startled look and then bowed her head as though
waiting for a storm to pass.

"I've found it out, Uncle Em!" said Gloria, in a voice that was not
Gloria's. "Found out about Pleasant Street and No. 80." Not a jot did
her voice falter. She was looking straight into her guardian's eyes. "I
don't suppose you could have helped it. It was my property and you kept
it in trust. But--" There was a little wail, and the girl buried her
face in her hands and burst into sobs.

"Gloria, don't!" begged Mr. McAndrew, while his wife let the tears of
sympathy drip slowly from her face. _"I could have helped it--I could
have helped it!_ It is a miserably mean thing." Mr. McAndrew was drawing
his breath sharply. "As you say, the property was left in my trust for
you by your father, but I had no need to turn it over to Richards. It
should have been fixed up. It serves me right that this has c