"Perhaps not." Maud spoke in the dead tone of finality.
He leaned slightly towards her. "Say, Miss Brian, aren't you rather easily disheartened? Wouldn't your people scrape together something for such a purpose?"
"No," she said.
"Are you quite sure?" he urged. "Won't you even ask 'em?"
She turned from him. "It's no good asking," she said, her voice low and reluctant. "The only relation we possess who might help won't even answer when I write to him."
"Why don't you go and see him?" said Jake. "Put the thing before him! He couldn't refuse."
She shook her head. "It wouldn't be any good," she said, with dreary conviction. "Besides, I couldn't get to Liverpool and back in a day, and I couldn't leave Bunny for longer. And--in any case--I know--I know it wouldn't be any good," she ended, with half-angry vehemence.
"I wish the little chap were my brother," said Jake.
Maud was silent. Somehow her vehemence had upset her; she had an outrageous desire to cry.
Jake was silent too for a few seconds; then abruptly he squared his shoulders and spoke with aggressive decision. "Miss Brian, a good friend is nearer than a dozen beastly relations. With your permission--I'll see this thing through."