This was worse than she had imagined.
"Who is it ?" she asked, at last, quietly.
"Lester Kent." "And who--or what--is Lester Kent ?" "He's--he's an artist--by choice.

I mean," stumbled Molly, "that he's quite well off--he only paints for pleasure.

He often runs down from town for a month or two at a time and takes out a temporary membership for our club." "And he has lent you this money ?" "Yes"-- rather shamefacedly.
"Well, he must be paid back at once.

At once, do you understand?
I will give you the twenty pounds--you're not to bother your father about it." "Oh, Sara! You are a blessed duck!" In an instant Molly's cares had slipped from her shoulders, and she beamed across at her deliverer with the most disarming gratitude.
"Wait a moment," continued Sara firmly.

"You must never borrow from Mr.
Kent--or any one else--again." "Oh, I won't! Indeed, I won't!" Molly was fervent in her assurances.
"I've been wretched over this.