Explore "Paul Quentin" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Dugdale felt a little ashamed of himself as he glanced at his companion. He had, perhaps, gone too far, for in any case it was no business of his. He had not expected Mary Pearson to yield quite so easily, and something in the nature of an apology trembled on his lips. Yet he could not deny that he was acting on the girl's behalf, and that he did what was intended for her advantage.
"If you don't like to say any more," he observed, "please do not. I may have gone beyond my rights, but I wish you to believe that my sole idea is to help you. That you are in distress is certain, and that you have no one to turn to is equally certain. There is much in common between us. We are both lonely and friendless, only you happen to be rich, and I poor. But my poverty is counter-balanced by my being in good health, and having an accurate knowledge of the world. I may never see you again, but whether that be so or not I can never forget your kindness."