“Oh, Mr Rossett, I am so sorry to hear of this. It is all this horrible bridge. I always seem lucky, but such a lot of my friends have bad luck. I think I shall give up these parties, if they are going to embarrass the people I like.”
There was a soft mist in her eyes, as she gave utterance to these noble sentiments. Guy felt a little thrill pass through him. She was not a mere worldling, she had her full share of real kindness, of real womanliness.
“One’s own fault, you know,” he answered lightly. “I suppose I ought to be old enough to take care of myself. I needn’t play bridge if I don’t want to, need I?”
Mrs Hargrave did not answer for a moment. She seemed struggling with her remorseful thoughts. Then, after a brief space, inspiration came to her, and she played a strong and winning card.
She laid her hand upon his arm, and her voice trembled ever so little as she spoke.
“Mr Rossett, we have been very good friends, have we not? And you were a pal of dear old Jack’s long before I met him.”
Rossett nodded. At the moment he had no idea what she was driving at, or what she was leading up to. And he was pretty quick too.
“Then I want you, for the moment, to think of me as a pal. Fancy for the time I am Jack, your old friend. What I want to say is this, don’t go to these horrible people. They are sure to rook you. I have a little money put by—dear old Jack left me comfortably off—and I make quite a small income out of my winnings. Let me be your banker. Now, don’t be proud.”
Guy was profoundly touched, and he thanked her in no measured terms. But the idea of borrowing money from a woman, even if she were a dear friend, was too horrible to contemplate for a second. Had there been no alternative, he would sooner have blown his brains out.
He told her this, and she sighed regretfully, as one amazed at the obstinacy of a certain type of man. She knew, could she once have got him to accept this loan, she would be sure of him.