Barrington, when he signed the check, had made Ocky promise to return to Jehane the thousand pounds she had lent. It wasn’t her thousand pounds, but Glory’s, held in trust for her till she married. Ocky had pledged his word to give it back on one condition—that Jehane was to be kept in ignorance of the transaction. At the time he had quite intended to carry out the agreement; but so much can be done with a thousand pounds and an ingenious mind can invent so many excuses for dishonesty.
The morning after his home-coming he hung about the house instead of going to his office. Already his methods of holding her closely were getting on Jehane’s nerves. His shiftless easy affection tried her patience beyond endurance.
“Aren’t you going yet?”
“Presently, old gel. I want to have a good look at you first.”
“I think you ought to go. You’ll have all your life to look at me—and I’ve got my work, if you haven’t.”
“All right, old gel.”
“I wish you wouldn’t ‘old gel’ me so much. It’s vulgar and silly.”
Lighting his pipe, he strolled into the hall and picked up his hat. He stood there fumbling with it. Only when she followed him did he set it on his head, retreating toward the door. With the street at his back, he turned.
“I say, about your money.”
“For goodness sake, go. We can talk about that at lunch.”