But now he seemed to think that she ought to be glad thus to disburden her conscience and by just so much to modify her indebtedness to him!
Struck by this thought, Joan gasped inwardly, and examined with startled eyes the face of Matthias. It was her first reminder of the fact that he had left her one hundred and fifty unearned dollars. She had forgotten all about that till this instant. Otherwise, she would have hesitated longer about calling. She wondered if he were thinking of the same thing; but his face afforded no index to his thoughts. He wasn't looking at her at all, in fact, but down, in abstraction, studying the faded pattern of the carpet at his feet.
She wondered if perhaps it would advance her interests to offer to return the money, to pay it back bit by bit—when she found work. But wisely she refrained from acting on this suggestion.
"I'm sorry I was so long about bringing it back," she resumed with an artificial manner. "I was always meaning to, you know, and always kept putting it off. You know how it is when you're on the road: one never seems to have any time to one's self."
"I quite understand," Matthias assured her gravely.
She grew sensitive to the fact that he was being patient with her.
"But I really mustn't keep you from your work," she said, rising. "You—you knew I was working, didn't you?"
"I heard," Matthias evaded—"in a roundabout way—that you were playing in vaudeville."
The girl nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes; I was all over, playing the lead in a sketch called 'The Lie.' It was a regular knock-out. You ought to have seen how it got over. It's still playing, somewhere out West, I guess."
"You left it, then?" Matthias asked, bored, heartily wishing her out of the house.