“I’m afraid I haven’t enough money to pay just now,” she said. “I suppose you won’t mind letting it stand over for a little?”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton brought her eyes back to Eileen’s face. Her thin lips were compressed for a moment; and when she spoke, her voice was hard:
“I always settle my own bridge-debts immediately; and I expect other people to do the same.”
Eileen flushed. After all, she had had fair warning. Mrs. Caistor Scorton had said the same thing the night before, when she had been the loser.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t as much money as that on hand.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton reflected for a moment.
“Well, you can give me a cheque, if you like,” she conceded. “But, frankly, I prefer to keep these things on a cash basis always. It’s a fad of mine; and I don’t like to break my rule.”
The ungraciousness of the tone was evident; but Eileen cared little for that. All she wanted was to escape the humiliation of a public explanation. A cheque would furnish a way out of present difficulties. She could hand it over; and then, later on, she could explain the state of affairs to her creditor without an embarrassing audience.
“Wait a moment and I’ll get my cheque-book,” she said, rising from her chair. As she turned, she noticed Morchard’s eyes fixed upon her and there seemed to be something speculative in his gaze. In his glance she read that he understood the state of affairs perfectly; but she saw no sign of sympathy in his face. Instead, there seemed to be calculation.
She climbed the great staircase, traversed the long corridor which ran at the back of the main building, and turned down the passage leading to her own room in the rear of the house. In a moment or two she had found her cheque-book, scribbled a cheque, and was back in the drawing-room. So eager was she to avoid an argument in public that she hardly gave a thought to the possible results of her action.