“We'll be impatient until you return with the tickets,” said Christie graciously.
Dick shook hands gravely, got as far as the door, and paused.
“You think it better to take the tickets now?” he said dubiously.
“By all means,” said Christie impetuously. “I've set my heart on going to-night—and unless you secure berths early—”
“In course—in course,” interrupted Dick nervously. “But—”
“But what?” said Christie impatiently.
Dick hesitated, shut the door carefully, and, looking round the room, lightly shook out his handkerchief, apparently flicked away an embarrassing suggestion, and said, with a little laugh:
“It's ridiklous, perfectly ridiklous, Miss Christie; but not bein' in the habit of carryin' ready money, and havin' omitted to cash a draft on Wells, Fargo & Co.—”
“Of course,” said Christie rapidly. “How forgetful I am! Pray forgive me, Mr. Hall. I didn't think. I'll run up and get it from our host; he will be glad to be our banker.”
“One moment, Miss Christie,” said Dick lightly, as his thumb and finger relaxed in his waistcoat pocket over the only piece of money in the world that had remained to him after his extravagant purchase of Christie's saffrona rose, “one moment: in this yer monetary transaction, if you like, you are at liberty to use MY name.”