“I have told you faithfully what my uncle charged me with. I swear to you, before Heaven, I do not know of any help he can offer except this. Now, if there is any way that you can think of to serve this poor old man, say so, and I swear to you again, if it depends on me, I’ll do it!”
“Would it be too late to write to Vyner?” asked he, half doggedly.
“Utterly. He is in Italy. Besides, my uncle tells me he is in some great trouble himself about money.”
“What of that other—I forget his name—where you were living last?”
“Sir Within Wardle. Impossible!—impossible!”
“And why?”
“I cannot tell you. But I may say this, that I’d rather beg in the street than I’d stoop to ask him.”
“Isn’t he rich?”
“Immensely rich.”
“And he is generous and free of his money, you always said?”