His mother came and stood over him. "George, you are not to go to Mr.
Thorpe with your pecuniary difficulties. I forbid it, do you understand?"

"Forbid it, mother? Great Scot, what's wrong in an honest little business
transaction? I shall give him the best of security. If he doesn't care to
let me have the money on the note, that's his affair. It's business, not
friendship, I assure you. Old Tempy knows a good thing when he sees it. I
shall also promise to pay twenty per cent. interest for two years from
date. Two years, do you understand? If anything should happen to him
before the two years are up, I'd still owe the money to his estate,
wouldn't I? You can't deny that—"

"Stop! Not another word, sir! Am I to believe that I have a son who is
entirely devoid of principle? Are you so lacking in pride that—"

"It depends entirely on how you spell the word, princi_pal_ or with a
_ple_. I am entirely devoid of the one ending in pal, and I don't see what
pride has to do with it anyway. Ask Anne. She can tell you all that is
necessary to know about the Tresslyn pride."

"Shut up!" said Anne languidly.

"It's just this way, mother," said George, sitting up, with a frown. "I've
got to have five or six hundred dollars. I'll be honest with you, too. I
owe nearly that much to Percy Wintermill, and he is making himself
infernally obnoxious about it."

"Percy Wintermill? Have you been borrowing money from him?"