"At once," said Chris.
He made a grimace, as of one swallowing a nauseous draught. "All right, you shall have it. Now, don't worry any more. It's going to be all right." He patted her shoulder kindly. "Only, for Heaven's sake, don't do it again!"
She shivered, and turned away to hide her quivering lips. "If—if you can get me the money this once," she said, "I—I'll never ask you again, and I'll give you every farthing—every farthing—"
"My dear child, I don't want your farthings," responded Rupert cheerily. "If you can make it fifty pounds now, I shall be quite grateful. But I'll get you yours first, never mind how. Now, hadn't we better go back to the rest? Aunt Philippa will be wondering what we are conspiring about. By the way, when does she depart?"
"Soon, I hope," said Chris fervently.
He grinned. "Had enough of her, eh? So, I should imagine, has Trevor. He is keener on giving advice than taking it, if I know anything about him."
"She wouldn't dare to give Trevor advice," protested Chris.
"Ho! wouldn't she?" He laughed derisively, as they turned to leave the little room in the roof that was her refuge, but paused at the door to slip his arm through hers. "You're not to worry, young 'un," he said, with a patronage that did not veil concern. "Do you know you're looking downright ill?"
She smiled up at him wistfully. "Things have been pretty horrid lately.
But I won't worry any more if—if you tell me I needn't."
"You needn't," he said, and impulsively he stooped and kissed her. He had always had a protecting tenderness for his little sister.