“Of course. My cousin is, as it were, my sister, Mr Trevithick.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, as he slowly resumed his seat, pursed up his lips a little, and then he took up a pen, with the holder of which he scratched his head as he studied a paper before him on the table. “Are you ready, Miss Gartram?”
“Quite.”
“Well, then, I have very bad news for you, I am sorry to say.”
“I am used to bad news, Mr Trevithick.”
“My dear madam, I spoke too bluntly. I meant bad news as to money matters. Forgive me my rough way. I am a man of business—a mere machine.”
Claude smiled her thanks, for the words were uttered with a manly sympathy that was pleasant to her ears, and Mr Trevithick felt better, and beamed again at Mary.
Mary once more resented that beam, and Trevithick passed his hand through his hair, which more than ever resembled a brush, and sighed, and said—
“I have gone over all papers and accounts, Miss Gartram, over and over again, and an auditor may perhaps find an error, but for the life of me I can’t tell where, for I have studied the figures night and day ever since I came here last, and I cannot bring them right. I was wrong to the extent of one, seven, eight; but I found a receipt afterwards, evidently carelessly thrown into the drawer before entering, and I wish I could find the other.”
“What other?” said Mary sharply.