CHAPTER XI

A BROKEN REED

“But, my good girl, five hundred pounds!” Rupert looked down at his sister with an expression half-humorous, half-dismayed.  “What do you think I’m made of?” he inquired.

She stood before him, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands.  “I must have it!  I must have it!” she said piteously.  “I thought you might be able to raise it on something.”

“But not on nothing,” said Rupert.

“I would pay it back,” she urged.  “I could begin to pay back almost at once.”

“Why on earth don’t you ask Trevor for it?” he said.  “He’s the proper person to go to.”

“Oh, I know,” she answered.  “And so I would for anything else, but not for this—­not for this!  He would ask questions, questions I couldn’t possibly answer.  And—­oh, I couldn’t—­I couldn’t!”

“What have you been up to?” said Rupert curiously.

“Nothing—­nothing whatever.  I’ve done nothing wrong.”  Chris almost wrung her hands in her agitation.  “But I can’t tell you or anyone what I want it for.  Oh, Rupert, you will help me!  I know you will!”

“Steady!” said Rupert.  “Don’t get hysterical, my child.  That won’t serve anybody’s turn.  I suppose you’ve been extravagant, and daren’t own up.  Trevor is a bit of a Tartar, I own.  But five hundred pounds!  It’s utterly beyond my reach.”

“Couldn’t you borrow it from someone?” pleaded Chris.  “Rupert, it’s only for a time.  I’ll pay back a little every month.  And you have so many friends.”

Rupert made a grimace.  “All of whom know me far too well to lend me money.  No, that cock won’t fight.  I’ve a hundred debts of my own waiting to be settled.  Trevor wasn’t disposed to be over-generous the last time I approached him.  At least, he was generous, but he wasn’t particularly encouraging.  He’s such a rum beggar, and I have my own reasons for not wanting to go to him again at present.”

“Of course you couldn’t go to him for this,” said Chris.  “But—­Rupert, if you could only help me in this matter, I would do all I could for you.  I would give you every farthing I could spare, indeed—­indeed.  I might even ask him for a little later on—­not yet, of course, but by and bye, if I saw an opportunity.  Oh, you don’t know what it means to me—­how much depends upon it.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Rupert asked.

“Because I can’t—­I daren’t!” Chris laid imploring hands upon his shoulders; her eyes besought him.  “Dear Rupert, it isn’t that I don’t trust you.  Don’t think that!  But it wouldn’t do any good if you knew, and I simply can’t talk about it.  I’ve shown how much I trust you by asking you to help me out of my trouble.  There is no one else in the world that I could ask—­not even Max.  He would make me tell him everything.  But you won’t, dear; I know you won’t, will you?”

It was impossible not to be moved by her earnest pleading.  Rupert slipped an arm around her.  “You needn’t be afraid of me,” he said.