“Start a faro-bank?” said Bertram incredulously. “You must be mad! Why, even if it were not the craziest thing I ever heard of, you can’t run a faro-bank without capital!”
“Thought of that,” said Mr. Scunthorpe, not without pride. “Go to my trustees. Go at once. Not a moment to be lost.”
“Good God, you don’t suppose they would let you touch your capital for such a cause as that?”
“Don’t see why not!” argued Mr. Scunthorpe. “Always trying to add to it. Preaching at me for ever about improving the estate! Very good way of doing it: wonder they haven’t thought of it for themselves. Better go and see my uncle at once.”
“Felix, you’re a gudgeon!” said Bertram irritably. “No trustee would let you do such a thing! And even if they would, good God, we neither of us want to spend our lives running a faro-bank!”
“Shouldn’t have to,” said Mr. Scunthorpe, sticking obstinately by his guns. “Only want to clear you of debt! One good night’s run would do it Close the bank then.”
He was so much enamoured of this scheme that it was some time before he could be dissuaded from trying to promote it. Arabella, paying very little heed to the argument, sat wrapped in her own thoughts. That these were by no means pleasant would have been apparent, even to Mr. Scunthorpe, had he been less engrossed in the championing of his own plans, for not only did her hands clench and unclench in her lap, but her face, always very expressive, betrayed her. But by the time Bertram had convinced Mr. Scunthorpe that a faro-bank would not answer, she was sufficiently mistress of herself again to excite no suspicion in either gentleman’s breast.
She turned her eyes towards Bertram, who had sunk back, after his animated argument, into a state of hopeless gloom. I shall think of something,” she said. “I know I shall contrive to help you! Only please, please do not enlist, Bertram! Not yet! Only if I should fail!”
“What do you mean to do?” he demanded. “I shan’t enlist until I have seen Mr. Beaumaris, and—and explained to him how it is! That I must do. I—I told him I had no funds in London, and should be obliged to send into Yorkshire for them, so he asked me to call at his house on Thursday. It is of no use to look at me like that, Bella! I couldn’t tell him. I was done-up, and had no means of paying him, with them all there, listening to what we were saying! I would have died rather! Bella, have you any money? Could you spare me enough to get my shirt back? I can’t go to see the Nonpareil like this!”
She thrust her purse into his hand. “Yes, yes, of course! If only I had not bought those gloves, and the shoes, and the new scarf! There are only ten guineas left, but it will be enough to make you more comfortable until I have thought how to help you, won’t it? Do, do remove from this dreadful house! I saw quite a number of inns on our way, and one or two of them looked to be respectable!”