"I'd have let them wait," said Harding. "But I don't play cards. I suppose you borrowed the money from somebody else, and he wants it back. Now the proper person for you to go to is your father."
Lance colored and hesitated again.
"I can't!" he blurted out with evident effort. "It's not because I'm afraid. He'd certainly be furious—I'm not thinking of that. There's a reason why it would hit him particularly hard. Besides, you know, we're far from rich."
Having learned something about Gerald Mowbray, Harding understood the lad's reticence. Indeed, he respected his loyalty to his brother.
"Very well. If you'll tell me what you owe, and where you got the money, I may suggest something."
He had expected Lance to refuse; but, worn by pain and anxious as he was, the boy was willing to seize upon any hope of escape. He explained his affairs very fully, and Harding made a note of the amount and of a name that was not unfamiliar to him.
When Lance finished his story and dropped back among his pillows with a flushed face, there was a short silence in the room.
Harding was not, as a rule, rashly generous; but he liked the boy, and Lance was Beatrice's brother—that in itself was a strong claim on him. Then, Mrs. Mowbray had been gracious to him; though he was a stranger and in a sense an intruder, she had taken him into her confidence, and he felt a deep respect for her. There was in his mind, however, no thought of profiting by the situation; indeed, he was frankly reluctant to part with money which could be better employed than in paying gambling debts.
"So you went to Davies, of Winnipeg—a mortgage broker?" he remarked. "Who told you about him? These fellows don't lend to people they know nothing about."
"A man introduced me," Lance said awkwardly; and Harding again suspected Gerald.