"Yes, it is a kind of madness, I suppose. I should not do it if I were happy. I shall have no need to do it when I am happy—by and by."
Again she stole a look at him, a tender pathetic look, which would have melted him a year ago. But it left him unmoved now. He felt only anger at her folly, her obstinate persistence in wrong-doing.
"You must not take Varney's money," he repeated, "not for worlds. To think that you should have secret dealings with such a man—a hardened scamp and roué!"
"I am not going to accept Sir George's offer—which was at least good-natured, so you need not be uncivil about him," replied Valeria coolly; "but I must get the money somehow. I don't want Otho's name to be posted at Tattersall's. There are too many people who would guess that Otho stands for Valeria in this case."
"It would be disgraceful, horrible."
"But it will happen, I'm afraid, unless I can get the money."
"I can find no more, Valeria. That last loan from Davis was most difficult to manage. I had positively no security to offer. The money was advanced on the strength of Wyllard's position, on the speculation that he would not see me broke."
"I am not asking you to pay my debts," she replied with her grand air: the air of a woman accustomed to be admired for every attribute of her character, good or bad, and to do wrong with impunity. "But the money must be found somehow, and perhaps you can tell me where I am to get it."
"From your husband," he answered impetuously. "Yes, Valeria, from your one true and loyal friend. The one man you can ask in all honour to pay for your follies."
"You advise me to go to him!" exclaimed Valeria, livid with anger. "You!"