Bertrand wheeled abruptly, and stood facing him, the length of the room intervening. His mouth worked as if he were trying to speak, but he said nothing whatever.
Mordaunt turned without further words to the letter in his hand, and studied it in silence. After a pause Bertrand came slowly back to the writing-table. He had mastered his agitation, but he looked unutterably tired.
Mordaunt moved to one side at his approach. "Sit down!" he said, without raising his eyes.
Bertrand sat down, and began to turn his attention to sorting the letters he had opened. Mordaunt stood motionless, reading with bent brows.
Suddenly he spoke. "There is something here I can't understand."
Bertrand glanced up. "Can I assist?"
"I don't know. Read that!" Mordaunt laid the letter before him. "I can't account for it. I think it must be a mistake."
Bertrand took the letter and read it. It was an intimation from the bank that in consequence of the bearer cheque for five hundred pounds presented and cashed the week before, Mordaunt's account was overdrawn.
"What cheque can it be?" Mordaunt said. "Have you any idea?"
Bertrand shook his head. "But no! It is perhaps some charity—a gift that you have forgotten?"