"On my word of honour…. But, oh, I don't think I can take it."
She thought of the five hundred. When you wanted five hundred it was pretty rotten to be put off with a fiver.
"If you can take it from Hawtrey and Markham—"
"That's it. I can't take it from Markham. I haven't done that. I can't do it."
"Well, Hawtrey then."
"Hawtrey's different"
"Why is he different?"
A faint suspicion, relating to Markham, troubled him, and not for the first time.
"Well, you see, he's a middle-aged married man. He might be my uncle."
He thought: "And Markham—he might be—"