In remembrance of John Ingerfield, and of Anne, his wife
The woman of the soeter
The lease of the Cross Keys
test suspicion of a smile playing round his firm mouth. "The bill falls due at the end of next month. You can discharge the debt then, and the matter will be off your mind."
Will finds his chair growing uncomfortable under him, while the Madeira somehow loses its flavour. He gives a short, nervous laugh.
"By Jove," he says: "so soon as that? The date had quite slipped my memory."
"Fortunate that I reminded you," says John, the smile round his lips deepening.
Will fidgets on his seat. "I'm afraid, my dear Jack," he says, "I shall have to get you to renew it, just for a month or two,--deuced awkward thing, but I'm remarkably short of money this year. Truth is, I can't get what's owing to myself."
"That's very awkward, certainly," replies his friend, "because I am not at all sure that I shall be able to renew it."
Will stares at him in some alarm. "But what am I to do if I hav'n't the money?"
John Ingerfield shrugs his shoulders.
"You don't mean, my dear Ja