"What's wrong?" he said shortly. "You've been hard to catch lately—something's on your mind."
"No, there isn't. Honestly," she protested. She saw that he was not to be put off. Moreover, she was feeling entirely weak and helpless, no longer the masterful and self-reliant female. And she told him the story—most of it.
When she finished he smiled at her. He seemed genuinely amused. "It's quite a tragedy," he admitted.
"And what am I going to do?"
"That's just the point," he agreed. "Has the tea room been making you money? Does it look good to you?"
"Yes," she said. "Too good to let go of." And then she launched into a digressive and rather vague prospectus of its activities and profits.
"How much money would it take?" he asked at length.
She told him.
"Well, then, forget it," he concluded. "I told you that if you got in a jam, to call on me. Well, I was not talking just to hear myself talk. I meant it." He paused and stared away at the opposite wall. "Meet me here this afternoon at three and I'll have a check for you."
Mary Louise was for the moment incredulous. Then a great sense of relief flooded over her, and then a feeling of regret.