“If you and I are to remain dear friends,” continued Mr Pick, “we must manage to raise money, somehow. You know that as well as I do.”
Still she said nothing, but kept her eyes on his face. He glanced up and looked away uneasily.
“I have seen my uncle again. He knows all about your sister and the American. He says it is only because of him that she refuses the handsome offer.”
The woman’s face grew tigerish, and she nodded rapidly, muttering, “Ah! yes! Mais oui! the American. I do not forget him!”
“My dear uncle thinks it is our fault that your sister refuses to forget him, which is more to the purpose,” sneered Pick. “He says you did not press that offer he made Yvonne with any skill, else she would never have refused it again—that makes four times,” he added. “Four times she has refused an establishment and—”
“Pst! what are you raising your voice for?” hissed the woman. “And how is it my fault?” she went on.
“I don’t say it is. I know better—who could wish more than we that your sister should become the mistress of my dear rich uncle? But when I tried to tell him just now that we had done our best, he raved at me. He has guessed somehow that they mean to marry. I did not tell him that we too had guessed it. But he said I knew it and was concealing it from him. I asked him for a little money to go on with. Curse him, he would not lend me a sou! Said he never would again—curse him!”
There was a silence while Pick smoked on. The woman did not smoke too because she had no cigarette, and Pick did not offer her any. Presently he spoke again.
“Yes, you certainly are an expensive luxury, under the circumstances. And since you have so mismanaged your fool of a sister’s affair, I don’t see how the circumstances can improve.”
She watched him. “And the ten thousand francs? You will throw me off and enjoy them at your ease?”