“I don’t think I shall play to-morrow,” she said, hesitatingly. “I’m rather tired of bridge.”
“Oh! Sorry to hear that. Quite looked forward to it.”
“No; I shan’t play any more.” She found her lip quivering and stiffened it with an effort. Morchard had caught the movement in her moon-lit face. “Shall we go back to the house?”
“Wait a moment, Miss Cressage, I’ve something to say.”
She turned back towards him and he studied her features for a moment; then he continued, as though he had just made a discovery:
“Now I guess what’s wrong. I knew something was up. You’re hard up? Isn’t that it?”
Eileen’s face was sufficient answer. Morchard’s voice became sympathetic.
“Really hard up? That’s beastly.”
Then, watching her keenly, he appeared to make a fresh discovery:
“That cheque you handed over to-night, no good, eh? Overdrawn your account? Well, well.”