I am sure I could get him to lend it to
_me_, only I would hate awfully to ask him."
Mr. Martel's roving eyes came back to hers hopefully.
"I wonder if you could?" he said, grasping at the proffered straw.
"Perhaps if he understood that _your_ career was at stake, that my
disappointment would mean _your_ disappointment, he would make some
special effort to assist us. Will you go to him, child? Will you plead
our cause for us?"
Eleanor hesitated but a moment; then she set her lips firmly. "Yes," she
said, with a little catch in her voice; "I will. I'll go to him in the
morning."
Quin, who had been staring out of the window, deep in thought, turned
abruptly to Mr. Martel.
"When do you have to have the money?" he asked.
"By next Wednesday, the first--no, the second of April. The date is
burned in my memory."
"You see, there's no time to lose," said Eleanor. "I'd rather die than do
it, but I'll ask Harold Phipps to-morrow morning."
"No, you won't," said Quin peremptorily; "I am going to get the money
myself."
"But he wouldn't lend it to _you_. You don't understand!"
"Yes, I do. Will you leave the matter with me until Sunday night, Mr.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186