"Oh, no," said Alex gently. "I've never written to them, except once, just after father died, to ask them to make the cheques payable to to the Superior."
"What on earth made you do that?"
"They thought it was best. You see, I had no banking account, so the money was paid into the Community's account."
"I see," Cedric remarked drily. "Well, the sooner you write and revoke that arrangement, the better. When did they last send you a cheque? In June?"
"I don't know," Alex was forced to say, feeling all the time that Cedric must be thinking her a helpless, unpractical fool.
"Write and find out. And meanwhile—I say, Alex, have you enough to go on with?"
"I—I haven't any money, Cedric. In Rome they gave me enough for my travelling expenses, but nothing is left of that."
"But what have you done all this time? I suppose you've wanted clothes and things."
"I got some with Barbara, but they aren't paid for. And there are some other things I need—you see, I haven't got anything at all—not even stamps," said Alex forlornly. "Violet said something about taking me to some shops with her, but I suppose all her places are very expensive."
"They are—dashed expensive," Cedric admitted, with a short laugh. "But look here, Alex, will you let me advance you what you want? It couldn't be helped, of course—but the whole arrangement comes rather hard on you, as things are now. You see, poor Barbara is really as badly off as she can be. Ralph was a most awful ass, between ourselves, and muddled away the little he had, and she gets pretty nearly nothing, except a widow's pension, which was very small, and the money father left. If you'll believe me, Ralph didn't even insure his life, before going to South Africa. Of course, he didn't go to fight, but on the staff of one of the big papers, and it was supposed to be a very good thing, and then what did he do but go and get dysentery before he'd been there a fortnight!"