"You are sure about the three hundred?" Sir Leslie asked, quietly.
"Quite."
"Then I think that you had better let me lend you the rest, for the present," he suggested. "I am afraid your uncle would be rather annoyed to know that you had been gambling to such an extent. You may be able to think of some way of paying me back later on."
She looked up at him hesitatingly. There was nothing in his manner which suggested in the least what Major Bristow had almost pronounced. She drew a little breath of relief. He was so much older, and after all, he was her uncle's friend.
"Can you really spare it, Sir Leslie?" she asked. "I can't tell you how grateful I should be."
He looked down at her with a faint smile.
"I can spare it for the present," he answered. "Only if you see any chance of paying me back before long, do so."
"You will pardon my interference," said an ominously quiet voice from the doorway, "but may I inquire into the nature of this transaction between you and my niece, Sir Leslie? Perhaps you had better explain it, Clara!"
They both turned quickly round. Mannering was standing upon the threshold, the morning paper in his hand. Clara sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Sir Leslie shrugged his shoulders.
He was congratulating himself upon the discretion with which he had conducted the interview. He had for a few moments entertained other ideas.