“He knows of nothing. I had to have the dress, the red silk, you know. I told him at that time that my mother had sent it; for he would have refused me, and I had to have it, and so I took it on my own account.”
“That was very stupid of you. Where will you take the money from now?”
“I really don’t know. Cannot you help me?”
“I will go to those people and ask them for time.”
“There would be no use in doing that, George; I must have the cash. I need at least a thousand marks, for I have to pay for other things as well—the dressmaker, the hair-dresser, the shoemaker, etc. Get me the money, George, and show me that you really love me as much as you always say you do.”
“I?” Borgert set up an unpleasant laugh. “Good heavens, I don’t know myself what is to become of me.”
“How so? Are you in debt too?”
“If you would take the trouble to devote some attention to that big sheet of paper over there on my desk, you might be able to tell. That sort of thing I get every day.”
Frau Leimann stepped up to the desk, unfolded the big sheet, and stared with wide-open eyes at the formidable columns.
“Why, I had no idea of this, George! What is to become of all this? You were my only reliance, and now I am entirely undone.”