“Well,” he said, “we will not dig into the past. It is scarcely profitable, anyhow. Your message said that you wished to see me particularly this evening.”
“Ralph,” she begged, “we have drifted a long way apart, but we were children together. Can’t we talk in a little more friendly fashion? Can’t you look as though you remembered that we are still brother and sister?”
He took her hand a little awkwardly.
“My dear Angèle,” he pointed out, “the very fact that I chose to come here is proof that I remember it. I returned to England partly for Claire’s sake, and partly because I wished to be near you. I admit that I did not know that you were living in the shadow and the lustre of the Ballaston régime, but that is nothing—prejudice, without a doubt. I came. If I could make your life easier, I would be glad. Is it money? I have plenty.”
She shook her head.
“I want to save the Ballastons,” she confided.
“Are they in any particular danger?” he asked coldly.
“You can’t have lived here even this short time without knowing it,” she answered. “Bertram’s father was a great gambler, and Bertram himself has gambled. Quite true. He has raced and made a failure of it. That also is true. He has kept expensive establishments everywhere, spent money like water, lived altogether beyond his means. All quite true. Other men have done this, Ralph, who are not worthless, and Bertram Ballaston is not worthless. Every acre of the estate is mortgaged now. Unless they can raise money within the next few months there is nothing left for them but to break the entail, pay their debts and disappear.”
Endacott was unmoved, his indifference apparent.
“Would the world be any the worse?” he ventured.