“And have you none of your own?” demanded his mother, with some asperity in her tone. Julian’s creditor was a young man who had the reputation of being a “very good sort of fellow,” who would never “do” in society.
“I’m awfully sorry to say I haven’t!” returned Julian meekly.
There was a moment’s pause, and Mrs. Romayne tapped impatiently on the papers lying by her.
“It is such an inconvenient moment,” she said at last. “I have just made all my arrangements for the quarter—I don’t mean that you can’t have it, of course you can, dear—but it is difficult to lay my hand on it at this moment.”
“Falconer could arrange it for you,” suggested Julian, alluding to Falconer in his capacity of trustee for the first time, as it happened.
Mrs. Romayne started violently, and a sharp exclamation of dissent rose to her lips. She stopped it half uttered, and paused a moment, controlling herself with difficulty.
“No,” she said at last, in rather a hard tone. “I would rather not do that. I will think it over and see what can be done. We must raise your allowance, sir. I can’t have mines sprung on me like this!”
She had risen as she spoke, and as he followed her example she lifted her face towards him for the good-night kiss which always passed between them.
“I will sleep upon it,” she said. “Good night, extravagant boy.”