“I hate to do it,” he replied; “it doesn't look right.”
“You must,” she insisted. “I will not take the position of rich wife to a poor man; it is humiliating to both. I will not marry you until you have made your success.”
“That is right,” said Thorpe heartily.
“Well, then, are you going to be so selfish as to keep me waiting while you make an entirely new start, when a little help on my part will bring your plans to completion?”
She saw the shadow of assent in his eyes.
“How much do you need?” she asked swiftly.
“I must take up the notes,” he explained. “I must pay the men. I may need something on the stock market. If I go in on this thing, I'm going in for keeps. I'll get after those fellows who have been swindling Wallace. Say a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Why, it's nothing,” she cried.
“I'm glad you think so,” he replied grimly.
She ran to her dainty escritoire, where she scribbled eagerly for a few moments.