“Well, what is your news?” she demanded, after waiting for him to speak.
“You are so literal, Madge,” he said, with a half sigh. “Give a poor beggar a chance to look at you; I’m reveling in having you to myself again.”
But Marjorie drew away from him. “Your news, please; I know it’s bad, or you would not hesitate to tell me.”
“Have it your own way,” Barnard thumped the turf nervously with his cane. “Do you know your aunt, Madame Yvonett, has a chattel mortgage with the Wellington Loan Company?”
“Yes; she took it out during mother’s last illness. How did you come to hear of it, Chichester?”
“The Wellington Company has turned the mortgage over to me to collect for them. I do their legal work, you know.”
“No, I wasn’t aware of it.” Marjorie drew in her breath sharply. “The interest is not due until next week.”
“But, my dearest girl, they want more than their interest—they require the principal.”
“The company agreed to permit Aunt Yvonett to pay that off gradually.”
“Has your aunt a written agreement to that effect?”