“What is it?”
“Bills and my bank account—they don’t seem to match somehow.”
She thrust a mass of papers toward Ruth, who sat down on the side of the bed and began to look at them. She picked up an assortment of bills, some of them months old, some of them just arrived, some of them mere statements of indebtedness, others with pertinent phrases attached thereto, such as “An immediate settlement will be appreciated.”
Ruth found a pencil and a pad and began to add up the various amounts—they totalled several thousand dollars. The idea of so much indebtedness frightened Ruth. All her life she had been accustomed to paying for things when she got them. Since coming to New York she had discovered that this was bourgeoise and inartistic, but training and heredity were stronger than environment with her and she still had a horror of debt. However, she tried to conceal her surprise.
“Now, if you’ll let me see your check book and your pass book, perhaps we can discover why they don’t match,” she suggested.
“Here they are—go as far as you like. I never could make anything of figures, except debts,” said Gloria.
“But you haven’t made out more than half the stubs on your checks—how can I tell what you’ve spent unless you’ve kept some record of it?
“I don’t know—they balance the book now and then at the bank, but I don’t know as it’s much use. The truth is I really can’t afford to keep up this house, even with only two servants.”
“Why don’t you rent it and then get an apartment and let George go and keep Amy? You could do with one servant in a small apartment and I could pay half the expense—”
“You could not! I thought I made that quite clear. I can’t have any one living with me except as a guest—”