He smiled, pulled a cheque-book out of his pocket, and wrote. Tearing out a leaf, he handed it to Angelica. She stared at it.
"What do you mean?" she cried.
Polly looked over her shoulder.
"Please don’t joke, Vincent," she said. "Please give her what is due her."
For he had drawn a cheque for ten thousand dollars.
"My dear Polly, any cheque I wrote would be equally ridiculous. There’s nothing in the bank."
"Then where is it, Vincent?"
"I’ve told you. My investments——”
"But my income? Surely that——”
He began to show irritability.