“My dear, are we not agreed that one must dress? I don’t question your expenditure—though I confess I succumbed to curiosity over the shoes. What—shall we say—puzzles me a trifle—”
“I know,” she interrupted, sedulously regarding her feet. “You w-want to know w-why I haven’t paid them myself.”
“My inquisitive disposition,” murmured his lordship.
“I c-couldn’t,” said Horatia gruffly. “That’s w-why!”
“A very adequate reason,” said that placid voice. “But I thought I had made provision. My lamentable memory must be at fault again.”
Horatia set her teeth. “I m-may deserve it, sir, but p-please don’t be odious. You know you m-made provision.”
He laid the bills down. “Pharaoh, Horry?”
“Oh n-no, not all of it!” she said eagerly, glad to be able to produce an extenuating circumstance. “B-Basset!”
“I see.”
The note of amusement had left his voice; she ventured to raise her eyes, and saw something very like a frown on his face. “Are you d-dreadfully angry?” she blurted out.