'Well, since you force me, Deb—I have been unfortunate in some speculations.'
'Is it thus you describe your losses on the race-course?'
'At the western meeting—yes—backed the wrong or losing horse—Scottish Patriot—devil of a mess, Deb!'
'And lost—how much? An unlucky name.'
'Two thousand pounds—must have the money somehow—I'm booked for it, and you know the adage—
"A horse kicking, a dog biting,
A gentleman's word without his writing,"
are none of them in my way.'
'I know nothing of the adage, but this I know—there are bounds to patience.'
'My dear Deb!' said he coaxingly.
'I have lost much—too much, indeed, through you—money that might be put to good and holy uses—and now shall lose no more!'