Her explanation was airy; she had let the thing slip out of her mind for a time. But there were various debts to Oxbridge tradespeople. How much? Well, rather a lot. Of course, the tradespeople were rather enticing when first one went up——How much, anyhow?
"Oh, about fifty pounds," said Marjorie, after her manner. "Not more. I've not kept all the bills; and some haven't come in. You know how slow they are."
"These things will happen," said Trafford, though, as a matter of fact, nothing of the sort had happened in his case. "However, you'll be able to pay as soon as you get home, and get them all off your mind."
"I think fifty pounds will clear me," said Marjorie, clinging to her long-established total, "if you'll let me have that."
"Oh, we don't do things like that," said Trafford. "I'm arranging that my current account will be a sort of joint account, and your signature will be as good as mine—for the purpose of drawing, at least. You'll have your own cheque-book——"
"I don't understand, quite," said Marjorie.
"You'll have your own cheque-book and write cheques as you want them. That seems the simplest way to me."
"Of course," said Marjorie. "But isn't this—rather unusual? Father always used to allowance mother."
"It's the only decent way according to my ideas," said Trafford. "A man shouldn't marry when he can't trust."
"Of course not," said Marjorie. Something between fear and compunction wrung her. "Do you think you'd better?" she asked, very earnestly.