Sherwood laid on the table a number of bank-notes, saying simply:
"There's two hundred and sixty pounds—the result of the sale of my furniture and things. Will you use that and trust me a little longer?"
Warburton writhed in his chair.
"What have you to live upon?" he asked with eyes downcast.
"Oh, I shall get on all right. I've one or two ideas."
"But this is all the money you have?"
"I've kept about fifty pounds," answered the other, "out of which I can pay my debts—they're small—and the rent of my house for this quarter."
Warburton pushed back the notes.
"I can't take it—you know I can't."
"You must."