"You'd like me to suggest lending you the money myself?" he asked directly.
There was a moment's pause—as if for the passage of a shiver of distaste for such brusque ill-breeding. Then Monty, as if nothing in the world could have ruffled him, nodded slowly.
"That would be most kind," he replied. "Most kind."
"I wonder how long it would be for?" pondered Edgar, aloud.
"Five hundred in a month's time. The whole of the rest within six months. That I think I could promise definitely. Could you do it yourself without inconvenience? You're most generous."
I wonder if I'm generous? thought Edgar, recalling Gaythorpe's jeer at his morbidity. And secretly he knew that it was not generosity but a sort of contempt which had prompted his leading question, and that Monty himself, placed similarly, would have avoided the issue and evaded the loan.
"Well, I'm not a money-lender; and it's quite true that the thing presents difficulties. But I could certainly arrange to let you have the money."
"My dear Mayne...."
"Not at all. When do you want it? And how?" He was impatient.
Monty shrugged. His orientalism was more marked than ever.