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 come upon
me." It was the lawyer's voice that broke now.

Gloria raised her head and wiped her drenched face. To hear the words
her uncle spoke was a relief to her. Still the fact remained. All she
had thought to do toward righting a wrong of somebody's must be done to
right a wrong that lay at her own door.

She tried to stand up bravely under it, this girl who had been sheltered
and petted and cared for, but it was a hard task. And then there was
the shock to all the dreams she had had of playing Lady Bountiful to
another. For a few days she struggled and kept up, but a cold she had
taken on the last day of her travel, aggravated by excitement, settled
into a downright ailment. Very tenderly they coaxed her to stay within