“Yes.”
“Do you think”—sardonically—“that I’m any more likely to get it at the end of six months than I am at present? If Tony hasn’t got twelve hundred now—is he proposing to earn it in the next six months?”
The bitter, gibing note in his voice roused her anger.
“You’d no business to lend it him!” she exclaimed hotly. “He’s only young, and you were simply helping him, encouraging him to gamble, when you know as well as I do that gambling is absolutely in his blood. You’d no right to lend it him!”
“I like that”—coolly. “Brabazon plays the fool—or knave, rather”—with a sudden harshness in his voice—“borrowing money which he knows he can’t repay, apparently—and it’s my fault! Not having enough sins of my own, I suppose you think you can saddle me with Tony’s, too. Many thanks.” He bowed mockingly.
“You’re the older man,” persisted Ann. “You ought not to have made it possible—easy for him to play beyond his means. Brett, please—will you give him time to pay? As”—with an effort she swallowed her pride—“as an act of personal friendship to me?”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Supposing I agree, supposing I do give him another six months, how is he going to get the money by then—unless that old curmudgeon of an uncle of his shells out for him?” Ann shook her head.
“He won’t,” she said. “I know that.”
“Then how is the young fool going to find the money in the time? Tell me that.”
“He will find it,” said Ann quietly. “I can’t—tell you how. But if you’ll wait six months, I’ll give you my personal guarantee that the money shall be paid.”