"Those are their ideas," said the old man, with indifference.
"Mr. Takma ..." said Ottilie, hesitatingly.
"Yes, child?"
"I wanted to ask you something, but I dare not...."
"What are you afraid of, child? Do you want something?"
"No, not exactly, but ..."
"But what, child?... Is it money?"
Ottilie heaved a great sob:
"I hate asking you!... I think it's horrid of me.... And you mustn't ever tell Lot that I ask you sometimes.... But, you see, I'll tell you frankly, I've sent Hugh some money; and now ... and now I have nothing left for myself.... If you hadn't always been so immensely kind to me, I should never dare ask you. But you've always spoilt me, as you know.... Yes, you know: you've always had a soft place in your heart for me.... And, if you don't think it horrid of me to ask you and if you could ... let me have ..."
"How much do you want, child?"