“Splendid!” Westenhanger conceded, sarcastically. “Invite me to take a hand in the inaugural game, will you? It’ll be an historic occasion, no doubt; and I might get my name into the newspapers.”
Douglas looked hurt.
“He doesn’t believe me, Eileen; he thinks I’m . . . Oh, sorry!”
He picked up his cards, and the game continued. For the third time in succession, Eileen Cressage laid down her hand with an inaudible sigh of relief. Being dummy, she could think about other things than the table before her. She had never been a keen bridge-player; her card-memory was too weak for anything beyond the most obvious tactics. And on this evening especially, her interest in the game was of the slightest. She played mechanically; and she had quite failed to note how, time and again, a skilful intervention by her partner had extricated her from a risky declaration.
As Westenhanger gathered up their first trick, her mind went back to her ever-present money difficulties. Some bills had reached her by the last post. Somehow, bills always dropped in at that time; and she had begun to dread the very sight of an unsealed envelope among her correspondence. If these wretched things had come in the morning, the affairs of the day might have helped to put them out of her mind; but when they arrived after dinner, they seemed to rivet her attention through the whole night.
The problems of a girl trying to keep up a decent appearance on a tiny income seemed to be approaching an insoluble state. Her quarter’s income was nearly exhausted; and yet something would have to be done. It was no use approaching her trustees in the hope of anticipating her income for the next three months. She had tried that before; and all she had got was a lecture on the folly of over-spending. It appeared that the thing was impossible under the will. Besides, the trustees were simply lawyers, without a spark of personal interest in her affairs or herself. So far as they were concerned, Eileen Cressage was a name on a deed-box or a docket. No help there, obviously.
And yet something would have to be done. She could pay some of her creditors and leave the rest of the affairs standing; but which people ought she to attend to first? Her mind was busy with a sort of jig-saw puzzle with the bills as a picture and the available money as the pieces; but with half the fragments missing, it was a hopeless business. One fact was evident: some of these bills would have to be settled, and settled soon.
With an effort she put the whole affair at the back of her mind and tried to divert her attention. But her first glance across the room brought the thing back to her from a different angle. There was her host, old Rollo Dangerfield, sitting in a despondent attitude beside the window. What had he to be low-spirited about? If she herself owned the Dangerfield Talisman, her troubles would be conjured away. The thing was worth £50,000 on the last occasion when it had been valued; and the price of diamonds had gone up a good deal since then.
Her eyes passed to where Mrs. Brent and the American collector sat. Neither of them had money worries. At sixty, Mrs. Brent seemed to get a good deal out of life; and the steam yacht in the bay at the foot of the garden was a fair proof that a few hundred pounds one way or the other was not likely to trouble her.
A rustle of the cards brought Eileen’s attention to the bridge table. She leaned back a little in her chair and glanced, with an envy which was quite devoid of malice, at the three players intent on their game.