Wrayford made no reply, and she went on: “I’m not. Tell me everything, please.”
“Well, he’s chucked away a pretty big sum again—”
“How?”
“He says he doesn’t know. He’s been speculating, I suppose. The madness of making him your trustee!”
She drew her hands away. “You know why I did it. When we married I didn’t want to put him in the false position of the man who contributes nothing and accepts everything; I wanted people to think the money was partly his.”
“I don’t know what you’ve made people think; but you’ve been eminently successful in one respect. He thinks it’s all his—and he loses it as if it were.”
“There are worse things. What was it that he wished you to tell me?”
“That you’ve got to sign another promissory note—for fifty thousand this time.”
“Is that all?”
Wrayford hesitated; then he said: “Yes—for the present.”