The Guinea Stamp | Page 5

tell me?'
Gladys continued to look at him with dislike and distrust she made no
attempt to disguise. If only he would not call her 'my dear.' She
resented the familiarity. He had no right to presume on such a short
acquaintance.
'I have nothing to tell you, I think,' she said very coldly, 'except that
papa is dead, and I have to earn my own living.'
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
WHAT TO DO WITH HER.
'Your own living? I am glad to hear you put it so sensibly. I must say I
hardly expected it,' said the old man, with engaging frankness. 'Well,
but tell me first what your name is. I don't know what to call you.'
'Gladys,' she answered; and her uncle received the information in
evident disapproval.

'Gladys! Now, what on earth is the meaning of such a name? Your
father and mother ought to be ashamed of themselves! Why can't
people name their children so that people won't stare when they hear it?
Jane, Susan, Margaret, Christina,--I'm sure there are hundreds of decent
names they might have given you. I think a law should be passed that
no child shall be named until he is old enough to choose for himself.
Mine is bad enough,--they might as well have christened me Cain when
they were at it,--but Gladys, it beats all!'
'I have another name, Uncle Abel. I was baptized Gladys Mary.'
'Ah, that's better. Well, I'll call you Mary; it's not so heathenish. And
tell me what you have thought of doing for yourself?'
'I have thought of it a great deal, but I have not been able to come to
any decision,' answered Gladys. 'Both papa and Mr. Courtney thought I
had better wait until you came.'
'Your father expected me to come, then?'
'Yes, to the last he hoped you would. He had something to say to you,
he said. And the last morning, when his mind began to wander, he
talked of you a great deal.'
These details Gladys gave in a dry, even voice, which betrayed a keen
effort. She spoke almost as if she had set herself a task.
'I came as soon as I could. The parson wrote urgently, but I know how
parsons draw the long bow, so I didn't hurry. Business must be attended
to, whatever happens. You don't know what it was your father wished
to say? He never asked you to write it, or anything?'
'No, but in his wandering he talked of money a great deal, and he
seemed to think,' she added, with a slight hesitation, 'that you had taken
some from him. Of course it was only his fancy. Sick people often
think such things.'
'He could not possibly in his senses have thought so, for I never had

any money, or he either. We could not rob each other when there was
nothing to rob,' said the old man, but he avoided slightly his niece's
clear gaze. 'Well, Mary, I am willing to do what I can for you, as you
are my brother's only child, so you had better prepare to return to
Scotland with me.'
Gladys tried to veil her shrinking from the prospect, but her sweet face
grew even graver as she listened.
'I am a very poor man,' he repeated, with an emphasis which left no
doubt that he wished it to be impressed firmly on her mind,--'very poor;
but I trust I know my duty. I don't suppose, now, that you have been
taught to work with your hands--in the house, I mean--the woman's
kingdom?'
This sentimental phrase fell rather oddly from the old man's lips. He
looked the very last man to entertain any high and chivalrous ideal of
womanhood. Gladys could not forbear a smile as she answered,--
'I am afraid I am rather ignorant, Uncle Abel. I have never had occasion
to do it.'
'Never had occasion; hear her!' repeated the old man, quite as if
addressing an audience. 'She has never had any occasion. She has been
born and cradled in the lap of luxury, and I was a born fool to ask the
question.'
The desolate child felt the keenness of the sarcasm, and her eyes filled
with hot tears. 'You don't understand, Uncle Abel, you never can
understand, and there is no use trying to make you,' she said curiously.
'I think I had better call Miss Peck to get tea for us.'
'Not yet; we must settle everything, then we needn't talk any more. I am
your only relation in the world, and as I have been summoned, perhaps
unnecessarily, on this occasion, I must, and will, do my duty. I have not
taken the long and expensive journey from Scotland for nothing,
remember that. So sit down, Mary, and tell