"Why did you bring this here? or, rather, why did you send it in to me? Mr. Campion is not difficult to find when he is wanted. This is, of course, his business." There was a little indignation in her tone.
"Beg your pardon, madam. You will observe the date of the acceptance. I presented it yesterday."
"At the bank?"
"Yes."
Nan bit her lip. She knew what this signified, and she would have given a thousand pounds to undo what had happened.
She went to a drawer in her writing-table and quietly took out a cheque-book. "We were delayed in returning to England by my illness," she said, as indifferently as she could. "Mr. Campion has gone out for the purpose of seeing to this." Her heart smote her for making a statement which she could not vouch for, but as Mr. Copley only bowed and looked uninterested, she went on rapidly, "As you have the paper with you it will save time—it will be satisfactory, I suppose—if I give you a cheque for it?"
"Amply satisfactory."
She sat down before the table and took the pen in her hand, hesitating a moment as to whether she ought to ask for further details. Her tears and her curiosity were alike aroused, and Mr. Copley divined the question, which she hardly knew how to put into words. He produced a sheet of notepaper, containing a few memoranda, and passed it across the table.
"That was to refresh my memory if necessary; but happily it isn't. Mr. Campion may like to see it however. He will find it is all correct. I knew I was right in asking to see you, ma'am."
Nan did not look at the memoranda. She was satisfied that she had the details before her for her own or Sydney's consideration if necessary. She signed her cheque and took possession of the dishonored bill; and then Mr. Copley departed.