"If they will not let me go," she answered, "I will leave. That is simple enough. We have enough money, Basil. We will go this afternoon."
He shook his head. "First," he said, "I must see—I must see—"
"Whom?" she asked.
"A friend," he answered, "someone who may be inclined to do something for me,—not for myself," he added hastily,—"that, of course, is ridiculous—but it is of you I am thinking, of you after I am gone."
"I shall be all right, Basil," she said. "We have several hundred pounds left, you know."
"It is not enough," he answered firmly. "Winifred, will you go on an errand for me?"
"Where to?" she asked, with a sudden sinking of her heart.
"To a man whose address I will give you,—a rich man, a great man. I think that he will be willing to do something for us. His name is Stirling Deane. I will write his address down for you."
"Mr. Deane!" she repeated. "I have been before to see him, Basil. I went before your reprieve came."
"Of course," he said. "I had forgotten. Well, I want you to go up to him now. I want to see him, but I do not want to go to his offices. Where do you live, Winifred?"