Online point red envelope to make money

Online point red envelope to make money

"Miss Maggie, was it—money matters?"

He had his answer in the telltale color that flamed instantly into her face—but her lips said:—

"It was—nothing—I mean, it was nothing that need concern you." She hurried away then to the kitchen, and Mr. Smith was left alone to fume up and down the room and frown savagely at the offending envelope tiptilted against the ink bottle in Miss Maggie's desk, just as Miss Maggie's carefully careless hand had thrown it.

Miss Maggie had several more letters from the Boston law firm, and Mr. Smith knew it—though he never heard Miss Maggie cry out at any of the other ones. That they affected her deeply, however, he was certain. Her very evident efforts to lead him to think that they were of no consequence would convince him of their real importance to her if nothing else had done so. He watched her, therefore, covertly, fearfully, longing to help her, but not daring to offer his services.

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That the affair had something to do with money matters he was sure. That she would not deny this naturally strengthened him in this belief. He came in time, therefore, to formulate his own opinion: she had lost money—perhaps a good deal (for her), and she was too proud to let him or any one else know it.

He watched then all the more carefully to see if he could detect any NEW economies or new deprivations in her daily living. Then, because he could not discover any such, he worried all the more: if she HAD lost that money, she ought to economize, certainly. Could she be so foolish as to carry her desire for secrecy to so absurd a length as to live just exactly as before when she really could not afford it?

It was at about this time that Mr. Smith requested to have hot water brought to his room morning and night, for which service he insisted, in spite of Miss Maggie's remonstrances, on paying three dollars a week extra.

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There came a strange man to call one day. He was a member of the Boston law firm. Mr. Smith found out that much, but no more. Miss Maggie was almost hysterical after his visit. She talked very fast and laughed a good deal at supper that night; yet her eyes were full of tears nearly all the time, as Mr. Smith did not fail to perceive.

"And I suppose she thinks she's hiding it from me—that her heart is breaking!" muttered Mr. Smith savagely to himself, as he watched Miss Maggie's nervous efforts to avoid meeting his eyes. "I vow I'll have it out of her. I'll have it out—to-morrow!"

Mr. Smith did not "have it out" with Miss Maggie the following day, however. Something entirely outside of himself sent his thoughts into a new channel.

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He was alone in the Duff living-room, and was idling over his work, at his table in the corner, when Mrs. Hattie Blaisdell opened the door and hurried in, wringing her hands. Her face was red and swollen from tears.

"Where's Maggie? I want Maggie! Isn't Maggie here?" she implored.

Mr. Smith sprang to his feet and hastened toward her.