The woman opened a purse and dashed a handful of silver to the floor.
"That is my all!" she cried, hoarsely.
"Then you must find a way out of your difficulties. I am going to have a serious talk with you."
Nevill drew a chair up to the couch, and his first words roused the woman's interest. He spoke for ten minutes or more, now in whispers, now with a rising inflection; now persuasively, now with well-feigned indignation and scorn. The effect which his argument had on his companion was shown by the swift changes that passed over her face; she interrupted him frequently, asking questions and making comments. At the end the woman rustled her silken skirts disdainfully, and rose to her feet.
"Why do you suggest this, Victor?" she demanded. "Where do you come in?"
Nevill seemed slightly disconcerted.
"I am foolish enough to feel an interest in a person I once cared for," he replied. "I want to save you from ruin that is inevitable if you continue in your present course."
"It is kind of you, Victor Nevill," the woman answered sneeringly. "He has a personal motive," she thought. "What can it be?"
"The thing is so simple, so natural," said Nevill, "that I wonder you hesitate. Of course you will fall in with it."
"Suppose I refuse?"