“It’s not rot. Don’t you see I’m done for—gone in? A man who borrows, as I’ve done, and can’t pay, is finished. Outside the pale. You don’t suppose they’ll let Doreen marry me after this, do you?”
Ann shook her head voicelessly. She could see—only too clearly—all the consequences which must inevitably follow if the matter became public. It signalled the end of things for Tony. It meant a ruined life—love, happiness, a clean name, all would go down in the general crash.
“The only thing I can do,” he resumed hopelessly, “is to emigrate. Bolt, and start fresh somewhere.”
Ann set her teeth.
“You’re not going to bolt,” she said doggedly. She was silent for a moment, thinking feverishly. There must he some way out—some way, if she could only come upon it.
“Whom do you owe this money to?” she demanded at last. “Several different people, I suppose?”
“No. One man offered to be my banker till—till my luck came round again,” confessed Tony. “And I let him. But I didn’t know I’d borrowed so much. It seemed to mount up all in a moment.”
“‘In a moment!’” There was a tiny edge of contempt to Ann’s voice. “How long have you been borrowing from this man?”
“Oh, for a goodish time—on and off. I’ve paid back some. I’d have paid it all back if I’d only had a stroke of luck. But I’ve been losing every night for the last month.”
Luck! The weak man’s eternal excuse for failure Ann felt as though she loathed the very word.