“I was just looking to see that Ellen was not at the key-hole, that’s all. It would not be the first time that I have caught her there.”
“Just like your nasty low ways again,” she said. “You’ve got some game on. I’ll be bound that you have got some game on.”
Mr. Quest seated himself again, and without taking any notice of this last remark began the conversation.
“I have brought you two hundred and fifty pounds,” he said.
“Two hundred and fifty pounds!” she said, jumping up with a savage laugh. “No, my boy, you don’t get off for that if I know it. Why, I owe all that at this moment.”
“You had better sit down and be quiet,” he said, “or you will not get two hundred and fifty pence. In your own interest I recommend you to sit down.”
There was something about the man’s voice and manner that scared the female savage before him, fierce as she was, and she sat down.
“Listen,” he went on, “you are continually complaining of poverty; I come to your house—your house, mind you, not your rooms, and I find the debris of a card party lying about. I see champagne bottles freshly opened there in the corner. I see a dressing gown on the sofa that must have cost twenty or thirty pounds. I hear some brute associate of yours out in the street asking you to lend him another ‘fiver.’ You complain of poverty and you have had over four hundred pounds from me this year alone, and I know that you earn twelve pounds a week at the music hall, and not five as you say. No, do not trouble to lie to me, for I have made enquiries.”
“Spying again,” said the woman with a sneer.
“Yes, spying, if you like; but there it is. And now to the point—I am not going on supplying you with money at this rate. I cannot do it and I will not do it. I am going to give you two hundred and fifty pounds now, and as much every year, and not one farthing more.”