He glanced through it with apprehensive surprise, skipping the long sentences to the end.
"Why, this is returnable to-morrow," he said; "Nelly, I had no idea you were in such urgent money troubles; why didn't you send for me at once; this morning?"
"Oh, if that's all—I've had so many duns that I'm tired of them: tired to death of them."
"But this isn't a dun," he began in the unnaturally quiet tone of a man who is trying to keep his temper and isn't going to succeed. "It is a court order; and people don't ignore court orders unless they want to get into trouble. This paper calls you to court to-morrow morning in supplementary proceedings."
"I don't know what they are."
"You don't want to know what they are. You mustn't know. It's an ordeal so terrible that most creditors employ it only as a last resort, especially against a woman. This plaintiff, being herself a woman, is less merciful."
"Why is it so terrible? I have no money; they can't make me pay what I haven't got, can they? Is it the Inquisition?"
"Yes, of a sort; it's an inquiry into your ability to pay, and almost no question that could throw light upon that is barred. You'll be asked about your business in New York, your income and expenses, your family and your father's means. It will be a turning inside out of your most intimate affairs."
"Why, I should expect all that," I said.
"But, Nelly—" he hesitated. "You're alone here?"