Hitherto the formality had always taken place after business hours, but the girl, too sick at heart to be surprised at anything, without hesitation or remark handed him her keys.
Before long Miss Corrie called him to dinner.
“It’ll ha’ to wait,” he returned, apparently immersed in his task.
At the end of twenty minutes he spoke.
“Here!”
She came over. “Anything wrong?” she asked wearily.
He pointed to the open drawer. “Ye’re short!”
“Nonsense! Twenty-seven pounds—that’s been the only money order business to-day.”
“Well, there’s only twenty-two.”
“You’ve made a mistake,” she said, with reviving alertness. “Three fives and twelve singles.”