“It is you who are quarrelling.”
“Very well,” said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter were decided. “Waiter.”
“I am going to pay.”
“So you can—for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strange men, nor pay for their ices.”
Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glanced angrily at her; and muttered, “I never thought you were that sort of woman.”
“What sort of woman?” demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the other occupants of the room turn and stare.
“Never mind,” said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw him looking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came. Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the money, changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets. Finding nothing, he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain, glanced doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the tablecloth.
“There,” said Susanna, putting down a sovereign.
Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin and thanked Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, “You must let me settle with you for this to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket of another waistcoat.”
“You will not have the chance of settling with me, either to-night or any other night. I am done with you.” And she rose and left the restaurant. Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he went out, and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to face in search of her. At last he saw her walking at a great pace a little distance ahead of him. He made a dash and overtook her.