She turned with a forced smile. “Am I? Perhaps I am. You see I’m worried. But then what have my troubles got to do with you?”
“Oh, please tell me. Look on me as a friend.”
“Dear boy, so I do. Well, I’m in difficulties—financial difficulties. I’ve got money coming out from England; but I’ve had such rotten luck at baccarat lately, and a lot of little bills have been coming in, and ... well, this is all I have to meet them.”
From her vanity bag she took a tiny jewelled purse, and showed him in its satin interior a few torn franc bills and some sous.
“Grotesque, isn’t it? I wouldn’t care, only there’s my week’s bill at the pension. I’ll pull through somehow....”
Hugh thrilled with sympathy; he blushed, stammered and blurted out: “I say, I’ve been rather lucky at the tables lately. Won’t you let me help you ... a little loan....”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t think of it.”
“It will be a privilege. Make me happy, please, by accepting.”
“Well, if you put it that way. I know you’ve been lucky, dear boy. You’re just too nice. Perhaps a mille would tide me over.”
Hugh feverishly searched his pocket-book. Alas! he had prudently left his big bills with Margot. All he had were some twenty ten franc notes.