“Allow me to be frank. Do you think he games at all?”

“I think he makes bets.” Mr. Harthouse waiting, as if that were not her whole answer, she added, “I know he does.”

“Of course he loses?”

“Yes.”

“Everybody does lose who bets. May I hint at the probability of your sometimes supplying him with money for these purposes?”

She sat, looking down; but, at this question, raised her eyes searchingly and a little resentfully.

“Acquit me of impertinent curiosity, my dear Mrs. Bounderby. I think Tom may be gradually falling into trouble, and I wish to stretch out a helping hand to him from the depths of my wicked experience.⁠—Shall I say again, for his sake? Is that necessary?”