"Better than that."
"Well, some agencies are very good."
"Not as good as this!"
"Put your arm round me. I've been feeling so wretched!"
"Come and sit here. There. Wretched, eh? Well, would three hundred a year cheer you up any?"
It would have, very considerably; but Stan's schemes were seldom estimated to produce a sum less than that.
"Eh?" Stan continued. "Paid weekly or monthly, whichever I like, and a month's screw to be going on with?"
Suddenly Dorothy straightened herself in his arms. She knew that Stan was trying to rouse her, but he needn't use a joke with quite so sharp a barb. She sank back again.
"Don't, dear," she begged. "I know it's stupid of me, but I'm so dull to-day. You go out somewhere this evening, and I'll go to bed early and sleep it off. I shall be all right again in the morning."
But from the pocket into which she herself had put four half-crowns that very morning—all she could spare—Stan drew out a large handful of silver, with numerous pieces of gold sticking up among it. A glance told her that Stan was not likely to have backed a winner at any such price as that. Other people did, but not Stan. She had turned a little pale.