‘Then he counts on a broken reed. I irritate and annoy him a hundred times a day.’
‘Oh, no, no—he does count on you,’ repeated Connie in her soft, determined voice. ‘If you give up, he will be much—much worse off!’ Then she added after a moment—‘Don’t give up! I—I ask you!’
‘Then I shall stay.’
They moved on a few steps in silence, till Connie said eagerly—
‘Have you any news from Paris?’
‘Yes, I am going over next week. We wrote in the nick of time. The whole thing was just being given up—for lack of funds. Now I have told him he may spend what he pleases, so long as he does the thing.’
‘Please—mayn’t I help?’
‘Thank you. It’s my affair.’
‘It’ll be very—very expensive.’
‘I shall manage it.’