“Mr. Tavernake was very good to me at a time when I needed help,” Beatrice told him.
The professor grasped Tavernake's hands.
“You were good to my child,” he said, “you were good to me. Waiter, three cocktails immediately,” he ordered, turning round. “I must drink your health, Mr. Tavernake—I must drink your health at once.”
Tavernake leaned forward towards Beatrice.
“I wonder,” he suggested, “whether you would not rather be alone with your father.”
She shook her head.
“You know so much,” she replied, “and it really doesn't seem to matter. Tell me, father, how do you spend your time?”
“I must confess, dear,” the professor said, “that I have little to do. Your sister Elizabeth is quite generous.”
Beatrice sat back in her chair as though she had been struck.
“Father,” she exclaimed, “listen! You are living on that money! Doesn't it seem terrible to you? Oh, how can you do it!”