“What does it mean?” he said hoarsely. “Who brought it back? Where does it come from?”
She glanced at him quickly. He was staring at the roll with a look of intense distress in his grave eyes. She drew her breath quickly, and glanced at him once more anxiously as she laughed, and said:
“I wish you would just take your luck, Bertie, without asking any questions.”
“How can I? I must know.”
“You’ll be sorry, and—and you’ll be angry,” faltered she, her colour coming and going.
“Never mind. I think you can trust me to be just.”
She suddenly made a spring at him, and held his arms, looking up with a bewitching air of entreaty into his face.
“Suppose some one you knew, and liked, and trusted, should have fallen a victim to a temptation too strong, under pressure of friends who wanted help badly. What then?”
“Well, who is it?”
His voice was stern, almost hard. Lady Sarah, frightened, began to weep.