"Why not, Fortune?" Ryanne was very earnest, and there was a pinch at his heart.
"Because...."
"Don't you like me, just a little?"
"Why, I do like you, Horace. But I do not like any man well enough to accept expensive gifts from him. I do not wish to hurt you, but it is impossible. The only concession I'll make is to borrow the money."
"Well, then, let it go at that." He was too wise to press her.
"And can you afford to throw away ten pounds?" with assumed lightness. "My one permanent impression of you is the young man who was always forced to borrow car-fare whenever he returned from Monte Carlo."
"A fool and his money. But I'm a rich man now," he volunteered. And briefly he sketched the exploit of the Yhiordes rug.
"It was very brave of you. But has it ever occurred to you that it wasn't honest?"
"Honest?" frankly astonished that she should question the ethics. "Oh, I say, Fortune; you don't call it dishonest to get the best of a pagan! Aren't they always getting the best of us?"