IV
On November the 1st Mary received their joint bank book. The figures appalled her. She had drawn nothing except for the household bills, but Stefan had apparently been drawing cash, in sums of fifty or twenty-five dollars, every few days for weeks past. Save for his meals and a little new clothing she did not know on what he could have spent it; but as they had made nothing since the sale of his drawings in the spring, their once stout balance had dwindled alarmingly. One check, even while she felt its extravagance, touched her to sympathy. It was drawn to Henrik Jensen for two hundred dollars. Stefan must have been helping Adolph's brother to his feet again; perhaps that was where more of the money had gone.
Stefan came home that afternoon, and Mary very unwillingly tackled the subject. He looked surprised.
“I'd no idea I'd been drawing so much! Why didn't you tell me sooner?” he exclaimed. “Yes, I've given poor old Henrik a bit from time to time; I thought I'd mentioned it to you.”
“You did in the summer, now I come to think of it, but I thought you meant a few dollars, ten or twenty.”
“Much good that would have done him. The poor old chap was stranded. He's all right now, has a new business. I've been meaning to tell you about it. He supplies furniture on order to go with Felicity's gowns—backgrounds for personalities, and all that stuff. I put it up to her to help find him a job, and she thought of this right off.” He grinned appreciatively. “Smart, eh? We both gave him a hand to start it.”
“You might have told me, I should have been so interested,” said Mary, trying not to sound hurt.
“I meant to, but it's only just been arranged, and I've had no chance to talk to you for ages.”
“Not my doing, Stefan,” she said softly.