"But that's not right" Port Scatho said, "it's not the right way to look at it. You can't pocket . . . I'm simply bewildered. . . ."
"You've no right to be bewildered," Sylvia said. "You're worrying your mind for expedients to save the reputation of your bank. We know your bank is more to you than a baby. You should look after it better, then."
Port Scatho, who had already fallen two paces away from the table, now fell two paces back, almost on top of it. Sylvia's nostrils were dilated.
She said:
"Tietjens shall not resign from your beastly club. He shall not! Your committee will request him formally to withdraw his resignation. You understand? He will withdraw it. Then he will resign for good. He is too good to mix with people like you. . . ." She paused, her chest working fast. "Do you understand what you've got to do?" she asked.
An appalling shadow of a thought went through Tietjens' mind: he would not let it come into words.
"I don't know . . ." the banker said. "I don't know that I can get the committee . . ."
"You've got to," Sylvia answered. "I'll tell you why . . . Christopher was never overdrawn. Last Thursday I instructed your people to pay a thousand pounds to my husband's account. I repeated the instruction by letter and I kept a copy of the letter witnessed by my confidential maid. I also registered the letter and have the receipt for it. . . . You can see them."
Port Scatho mumbled from over the letter:
"It's to Brownie . . . Yes, a receipt for a letter to Brownie . . ." She examined the little green slip on both sides. He said: "Last Thursday. . . . To-day's Monday. . . . An instruction to sell North-Western stock to the amount of one thousand pounds and place to the account of . . . Then . . ."