“I was taken aback,” she went on, “when I heard how much I owed Mrs. Caistor Scorton. I don’t wish to keep anything back now. It was far more than I could pay in any reasonable time. I lost my head, I’m afraid; I wanted at any cost to avoid a public explanation. So when a cheque was suggested, I filled one in and handed it over, intending to explain to Mrs. Caistor Scorton how matters stood, as soon as I could get her by herself.”
Westenhanger let his eyes wander to Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face, but it was absolutely expressionless.
“I felt that was the best thing to do,” Eileen continued. “It avoided public explanations and unpleasantness for everyone, and it really made things no worse.”
She paused, and Mrs. Brent took up the story, as though their parts had been pre-arranged between them.
“I seldom interfere in other people’s affairs. I was brought up to believe that one shouldn’t be a busybody. But some things seem to me outside the rules of the game, and then an outsider can take a hand. I noticed a thing that evening which seemed to me outside the rules. Taking advantage of a girl in a tight corner is . . . well, I needn’t comment on it.”
She darted a contemptuous glance at Morchard, without taking any pains to disguise it.
“That was what happened that evening. Naturally, I stepped in.”
Morchard’s face showed that he had not known this before. He made no comment, and Mrs. Brent continued.
“I asked Eileen to come to my room after everyone had gone to bed. I wanted to have a good talk with her; strike while the iron was hot, you see, and get a promise out of her that she wouldn’t gamble in that way again. If I’d waited till next morning I wouldn’t have been able to make such a strong impression.”
She glanced towards Freddie Stickney again.