“Harry, dear.”
“Well?”
“Do you think Mr Pradelle is trustworthy?”
“As trustworthy as most people,” said the young man carelessly. “Yes, of course. He is obliged to be.”
“But could you not pledge the things yourself instead of trusting him?”
“No,” he cried, with an impatient stamp. “You know how I tried, and how the assistant began to question and stare at me, till I snatched the thing out of his hands and hurried out of the shop. I’d sooner beg than try to do it again.”
Louise was silent for a few moments, and sat gazing thoughtfully before her.
“Let me write, Harry, telling everything, and asking my father to send us money.”
“Send for the police at once. There, open the windows, and call the first one up that you see pass. It will be the shortest way.”
“But I am sure, dear—”