'My dear child,' he said--'I can't spare
you a cent--I've just spent seven hundred and fifty pounds on a motor
car--is a sovereign any good to you?'"
There was a bitter sense of humour in the story. She laughed at
it--loud, uncontrolled laughter that rang as empty and as hollow as
an echo.
"Give me what you can," she added. "Anything above a shilling's
better than fourpence."
"Is that what you're down to?"
"Um--"
He took three sovereigns out of his pocket, and gave them to her.
She let them lie out flat in the palm of her hand--the three of them,
all in a row. They glittered--even in the candle-light. They were
her own.
"When are you coming to see me?"
She still looked at them.
"I'm not coming."
Her head shot up; her eyes filled with questions.
"Why not?"
He opened his hands expressively. If there were any answer to that
question, she learnt that she was not going to get it.
"Are you going to be married?" she asked slowly.
He shook his head--laughing. Then understanding shot into her eyes,
and a flash of jealousy came with it.
"I know," she exclaimed between thin lips.
"What do you know?"
"You're going to keep some woman here--some girl you're fond of.
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