"See here, Miss Nell," he said earnestly, leaning across the table. "Would you be willing to go back to the Martels' if you knew that this time next month you'd be in New York with money enough to carry you through the winter?"
"No. That is—whose money?"
"Your own. I'll go to Queen Vic and put the whole thing up to her so she can't get around it."
Eleanor brushed the suggestion aside impatiently.
"Don't you suppose I've exhausted every possible argument? And now, when she finds out what I've done——"
"But you haven't done anything—yet."
"She wouldn't believe me if I told her that I hadn't seen Harold. She never believes me."
"She'd believe me," said Quin, "and what's more she'd listen to me."
Eleanor did not answer; she sat doggedly watching the swinging doors, through which a draggled throng came and went.
"He'll be here soon," she said half-heartedly—"unless he's gone off for a week-end somewhere. If he doesn't come soon we can go up to the hotel and find out whether he left any address. Perhaps you could get me a room there until to-morrow."