“Well, you see,” said Lord Norman, “he’s got a good deal to think of and worry him. Although the duke is such a swell, he’s poor.”
“I thought a duke could never be poor,” she said.
“That’s what you thought about lords until you made my acquaintance,” he laughed, ruefully. “It’s this way. The duke’s father and grandfather were wild, and went the pace. They had to borrow money, and they went to the Jews. Now, going to the Jews is as bad as going to the dogs. They lend you money at sixty per cent., and they take everything you’ve got as security.”
“I know,” said Esmeralda, with a nod. “There was a man here who lent money like that. The boys tarred and feathered him.”
Lord Norman laughed approvingly.
“I wish they’d do that in England,” he said, with a sigh. “Though, I suppose, it wouldn’t be quite fair; for, if you borrow money, you must pay for it. Well, the duke is up to his neck in debt. Everything is mortgaged that can be; and though there are thousands of acres of land, and half a dozen big houses as well as Belfayre, they’re all mortgaged, and really belonging to some one else if they liked to swoop down upon them.”
“What does he want with half a dozen houses?” asked Esmeralda. “He can’t live in them, though he is a duke.”
“Not all at once,” said Lord Norman, smiling. “In fact, he never leaves Belfayre; and Trafford, when he isn’t there, has rooms in the Albany and dines at his club—off the joint.”
Esmeralda looked at him with a puzzled frown. She was trying hard to understand.
“Why don’t they shut up the houses,” she asked, “and go and live somewhere where it wouldn’t cost much money.”