Fricker looked at Peggy with a smile.
'I don't drink wine,' said Peggy, rather severely.
'Of course not—between meals. Connie's so hospitable, though. Well, I hope to see you again.'
'I really don't believe you do,' said Peggy. 'You love money, but——'
'I love a moral lesson more? Possibly, Miss Ryle; but I at least keep my bargains. You can rely on my word if—if you come again, you know.'
Peggy's hansom was at the door, and he helped her in. She got into the corner of it, nodded to him, and then sank her face far into the fluffy recesses of a big white feather boa. All below her nose was hidden; her eyes gleamed out fixed and sad; her hands clutched the little bag very tightly. She had so hoped to bring it back empty; she had so hoped to have a possible though difficult task set her. Now she could hear and think of nothing but those terrible figures set out in Fricker's relentless tones—'Four thousand pounds!'
Fricker turned back into his house, smiling in ridicule touched with admiration. It was all very absurd, but she was a girl of grit. 'Straight too,' he decided approvingly.
Connie ran downstairs to meet him.
'Oh, what did she want? I've been sitting in the drawing-room just devoured by curiosity! Do tell me about it, papa!'
'Not a word. It's business,' he said curtly, but not unkindly. 'Inquisitiveness is an old failing of yours. Ah!'