“Oh, leave me alone! Tell me how you got into his debt.”
“There’s nothing much to tell,” replied Agatha Girton coldly. “When Bittle first came, and was trying to get into Baycombe society, nobody returned his calls. Then he called on me and insisted on seeing me—I suppose because he thought the Manor had the most influence. He knew I was hard up—I don’t know how—and if I helped him he’d help me. It was my only way out. I agreed. You know he’s been here several times, but even then I couldn’t make anyone else take him up, although he didn’t seem at all uneducated and behaved perfectly. They’re all snobs here. . . . I had to go on borrowing from him, and he didn’t seem to mind, though he wasn’t getting much return for it. That’s all there is to it.”
Patricia bit her lip.
“I see. And even though you were using my money you didn’t condescend to tell me anything about it.”
“What good would that have done?”
“Wasn’t there anything——”
“Nothing whatever,” said Miss Girton flatly.
Patricia looked at her.
“Then might I ask what you propose to do now you’ve come to the end of your resources?”
Agatha Girton started another cigarette, and her hands were a little more unsteady. For a moment she failed to meet the girl’s eye, and stared fixedly out of the window. Then she looked at Patricia again.