There was no need to tell Alex so.
"Have you got the cheque with you, Alex?"
"No," said Alex at last. "Didn't you understand my letter, then?"
Cedric's spectacles began to tap slowly against the back of his left hand, held in the loose grasp of his right.
"You—er—cashed that cheque?"
"Yes."
Alex felt as though she were being put to the torture of the Inquisition, but was utterly unable to do more than reply in monosyllables to Cedric's level, judicial questions.
"May I ask to what purpose you applied the money?"
"Cedric, it's not fair!" broke from Alex. "I've written and told you what I did—I needed money, and I—I thought you wouldn't mind. I used it for myself—and I meant to write and tell you—"
"You thought I wouldn't mind!" repeated Cedric in tones of stupefaction.