"But you acted on the report of his unsteadiness," said Joyce, "in not letting him come down to see his copy of your Reynolds."
Philip put a fretful hand to his face and closed his eyes.
"You are very persistent and argumentative, Joyce," he said, "and you know I am not up to these discussions. And this morning only I was planning that as soon as I could move, we would go and spend a fortnight at Torquay: I see they have been having a great deal of sunlight there. Pray let us not continue. I think you said there was a letter from Craddock, to whom you never did justice. You disappointed me very much, and him too of course. Please take his letter and see what he has to say."
Joyce tore open the envelope and took out the contents.
"There seems to be a cheque enclosed," she said.
Philip raised himself in bed, and put out his hand. An unexpected cheque by post is a pleasant excitement to all but the most apathetic Croesus.
"Give it me," he said. "I wonder what that can be for." He glanced at it.
"Good God, how slow you are, Joyce," he exclaimed, "read his letter. I don't know what it means."
Joyce read.
"I enclose my cheque for five thousand pounds, which is the balance of what I actually received from Mr. Ward, for your Reynolds. With regard to your subsequent proceedings I throw myself unreservedly on your mercy. I have also to tell you that the statements I made to you about the character of Charles Lathom are entirely unfounded. I unreservedly withdraw them."