“Whew! If that’s the case, I’m at a loss to give advice,” exclaimed Egerton gravely.
“It would be of no assistance,” he said. “Like an ass, I’ve run through all I possess, with the exception of a bare couple of pounds a week. I must therefore drag out an existence in one of those dismal old continental towns that seem to be provided as harbours of refuge for unfortunate fellows like myself. I’m truly sorry to leave you both, but needs must when the devil drives.”
“Why not remain here? If you are hard hit, I can see no reason why you should bury yourself,” contended the artist thoughtfully.
“No, Mr Trethowen,” added Dolly, gazing into her teacup in a vain endeavour to hide the tears that stood in her eyes, “don’t leave us. Why, Mr Egerton would not have half the spirit for his work if you didn’t run in now and then and make him laugh.”
“I—I cannot remain,” he replied hesitatingly. “You see, I’m utterly incapable of making a fresh start in life, for I’ve no profession. Besides, there’s a much stronger reason for my departure. It’s absolutely imperative.”
His face was lined with pain and sorrow, as he drew a deep sigh, the index to a heavy heart.
“What’s the reason?” demanded his friend, glancing sharply at him.
“Because, if I don’t get away almost immediately I shall find myself arrested.”
“Arrested?”
He nodded, but for a few moments no words escaped his lips.