Clare set her down, and would have held her, as usual, by the hand, but she would not let him. She stood with her eyes on the ground, and her little gray face looking like stone. It frightened Clare, and he remained a moment silent, reviewing the situation. “You see, little one,” he said at length, “you were theirs before I came! You were sent to them. You are their own little girl, and we must mind what they would like!” “It was only till you came!” she argued. “They don’t care _very_ much for me. Ask them, please, to sell me to you. I don’t think they would want much money for me! How many shillings do you think I am worth, Clare? Not many, I hope!--Six?” “You are worth more than all the money in your papa’s bank,” answered Clare, looking down at her lovingly. The child’s face fell. “Am I?” she said. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know I was worth so much!--and not yours!” she added, with a sigh that seemed to come from the very heart of her being. “Then you’re not able to buy me?” “No, indeed, little one!” answered Clare. “Besides, papas don’t sell their little girls!” “Oh, yes, they do! Gus said so to Trudie!” Clare knew that _Trudie_ meant her sister Gertrude. “Who is Gus?” he asked. “Trudie calls him Gus. I don’t know more name to him. Perhaps they call him something else in the bank.” “Oh! he’s in the bank, is he?” returned Clare. “Then I think I know him.” “He said it to her one night in my nursery. Jane went down; I was in my crib. They talked such a long time! I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn’t. I heard all what he said to her. It wasn’t half so nice as what you talk to me!” This was not pleasant news to Clare. Augustus Marway was, if half the tales of him were true, no fit person for his master’s daughter to be intimate with! He had once heard Mr. Shotover speak about gambling in such terms of disapprobation as he had never heard him use about anything else; and it was well known in the bank that Marway was in the company of gamblers almost every night. He was so troubled, that at first he wished the child had not told him. For what was he to do? Could it be right to let the thing go on? Clare felt sure Mr. Shotover either did not know that Marway gambled, or did not know that he talked in the nursery with his daughter. But, alas, he could do nothing without telling, and they all said none but the lowest of cads would carry tales! For the young men thought it the part of gentlemen _to stick by each other_, and hide from Mr. Shotover some things he had a right to know. But Clare saw that, whatever they might think, he must act in the matter. Little Ann wondered that he scarcely spoke to her all the way home. But she did not say anything, for she too was troubled: she did not belong to Clare so much as she had thought she did!