It was something more than disconcerting to have her generosity attributed to someone else; that he should give the credit of it to Flood, of all people, was plainly provoking.
"Did he give you to understand that he had done the providing?" she asked.
"Why, no! I've just told you he was too modest!" Then, perhaps at something in her look of disdain, he understood. "Oh, I see! I'm sure I beg your pardon! It is you who are doing it?"
She did not reply nor look at him, but flushed deeply.
But he did not seem to think it mattered either way. "Well, it'll be the best thing in the world for them both," he said.
So there was to be no word of praise for herself! She forgot to wonder at his unquestioning acceptance of the fact that she should have enough to spare for such a gift; it did not occur to her until afterward that he must have known of her fortune all along.
In her disappointment and dismay she spoke with a little tremor of anger which did not escape him.
"I suppose you think it is no more than I ought to do!" she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Well! Is it?" he questioned.
She did not reply to that, and he asked, "You will not miss what you give, will you?" By his tone he might have been asking, "Well, what of it? What's money good for, anyway?"