"Please tell me, Mr. Thorne. I mean to pay it: I must."
"Well, I'll ask him about it, then."
"You know," with a look of reproach and pleading.
Percival could not deceive her, she looked so sorrowfully resolute. He met the glance of her gray eyes. "Two pounds," he said; and was certain that she was relieved at the answer.
"Bertie wasn't sure it wasn't two pounds ten."
"On my honor, no. He asked me for a couple of sovereigns, and I took it literally."
"If you say so, I am sure. I didn't doubt you: I only told you that you might understand why I asked." She put the money, a sovereign and two halves, into his unwilling hand. Then he understood her relief, for, looking down into the little sealskin purse, he saw that there was no more gold in it. The last ten shillings must have been counted out in silver, and he was not quite sure it would not have ended in a threepenny piece and some halfpence.
"Now I am going to ask a favor," she said. "Don't lend Bertie any more, please. He has been used to spend just what he liked, and he doesn't think, poor boy! And it is only wasted. Don't let him have any more."
"But, Miss Lisle," said Percival, "if your brother asks me do you mean that I am to say 'No'?"
"Please, if you would. He mustn't be extravagant: we can't afford it. He can't pay you back, and if I lost any of my work—Mrs. Barton's lessons, for instance—I couldn't either."