Godfrey Pavely waited a moment. "I don't know that I ought to tell you—" he said uncomfortably. "He doesn't want to appear in the business."
"Of course you ought to tell me!" All sorts of strange ideas floated through Katty's mind. Was he going to say "Oliver Tropenell"? She rather expected he was.
"Well, I will tell you," he said, "for I know you can hold your tongue. The name of the man who's going into this business with me is Greville Howard."
"D'you mean the big money-lender?" Katty couldn't help a little tone of doubt, of rather shocked surprise, creeping into her voice.
"Yes," he said doggedly, "I do mean the man who was once a great money-lender. He's retired now—in fact he's living——" and then he stopped himself.
"Why, of course!" Katty felt quite excited. "He's living in Yorkshire, near the Haworths! They've often talked about him to me! They don't know him—he won't know anybody. He's a rather queer fish, isn't he, Godfrey?"
"He's absolutely straight about money," exclaimed Godfrey Pavely defensively. "I've had dealings with him over many years. In fact he's the ideal man for this kind of thing. He has all sorts of irons in the fire—financially I mean—on the Continent. He's a big shareholder in the company that runs the Dieppe and Boulogne Casinos."
He got up. "Well, I ought to be going now. It's all right isn't it, Katty? You won't talk again of going away?"
"Could you let me have that two hundred pounds this afternoon?" she asked abruptly.
Godfrey Pavely looked at her with a curious, yearning, rather sad look. Somehow he would have preferred that Katty should not be quite so—so—he hardly formulated the thought to himself—so ready to do anything for money. "Very well," he said. "Very well, my dear"—he very seldom called her "my dear," but he had done so once or twice lately. "I'll bring it this afternoon, in notes."