“Of course I know all about that,” she said. “Poor Freddie wouldn’t talk about anything else till I made him. He was terribly blue when he got here this afternoon. He said he had got ‘nipped’ in Amalgamated Dyes. He had lost about two hundred pounds, and was furious with a friend of his who had told him to buy margins.”
Uncle Chris cleared his throat.
“Jill, I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you. I bought Amalgamated Dyes, too.” He worried his mustache. “I lost heavily, very heavily.”
“How naughty of you! You know you oughtn’t to gamble.”
“Jill, you must be brave. I—I—well, the fact is—it’s no good beating about the bush—I lost everything! Everything!”
“Everything?”
“Everything! It’s all gone! All fooled away. It’s a terrible business. This house will have to go.”
“But—but doesn’t the house belong to me?”
“I was your trustee, dear.” Uncle Chris smoked furiously. “Thank heaven you’re going to marry a rich man!”
Jill stood looking at him, perplexed. Money, as money, had never entered into her life. There were things one wanted, which had to be paid for with money, but Uncle Chris had always looked after that. She had taken them for granted.