His tone was so intense that she could not interrupt him; she could only
sit and listen in wonder, half trembling, to the low-spoken torrent of
feeling that he expressed. She tried to protest, but the look in his face
stopped her. He went on with an earnestness that would not be turned aside
from its purpose.

"I came to Chicago that I might search for you. I could not stand the
suspense any longer. I have been looking for you in every way I could
think of, without openly searching, for that I dared not do lest I might
jeopardize your safety. I was almost in despair when I went to dine with
Mr. Phillips last evening. I felt I could not go home without knowing at
least that you were safe, and now that I have found you, I cannot leave
you until I know at least that you have no further need for help."

She summoned her courage now, and spoke in a voice full of feeling:

"Oh, you must not feel that way. You helped me just when I did not know
what to do, and put me in the way of helping myself. I shall never cease
to thank you for your kindness to an utter stranger. And now I am doing
very well." She tried to smile, but the tears came unbidden instead.

"You poor child!" His tone was full of something deeper than compassion,
and his eyes spoke volumes. "Do you suppose I think you are doing well
when I see you wearing the garb of a menial and working for people to whom
you are far superior--people who by all the rights of education and
refinement ought to be in the kitchen serving you?"

"It was the safest thing I could do, and really the only thing I could get
to do at once," she tried to explain. "I'm doing it better every day."