"Hm," Emrys said again, this time with a tone that implied he thought Pettigrew might be on to something. Emrys had hit on something too, it seemed, because Pettigrew had made a little pained noise before he'd answered. Husbands who ruined their wives might have been a bit of a sore subject, then. Did that mean Watchword was right, about the whole thing? Pettigrew didn't seem like the type to be angling towards a divorce he wouldn't bring up himself (or at least, Emrys didn't get that impression — he didn't really know him, but he made value judgements on people very quickly after meeting them). On the other hand, Emrys had a piece of evidence in support of that theory that Watchword hadn't known about: a week ago, he'd offered Pettigrew ten galleons for the honor of someone he had no particular reason to care about, and he'd turned it down. So maybe there was something to this idea that he wanted to be in debt, wanted to ruin himself because he wanted a way out.

It was an interesting case study, for someone contemplating whether or not it was worth it to marry.

"I'm not a gambler," Emrys said with a shrug. "Not really, anyway. A few bets here or there, but only for fun. I'm an investor," he continued, reaching into his interior jacket pocket to retrieve his cigarette case. "Same rush with much better pay-outs."