“He owes me money, certainly. Whether you’d define it as a large or small sum would be a matter of relative proportion, I should imagine.”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Ann eagerly. “That’s just it. To him, twelve hundred is an enormous sum—a small fortune! To you—it isn’t very much to you, Brett, is it?”
“I don’t quite understand,” he replied cautiously.
“You hold some bills of his—notes of hand, don’t you call them?” she pursued. “And they’re due to be paid now, aren’t they?”
“That is so. Well, what then?”
“Why, it wouldn’t make much difference to you—would it, Brett?”—appealingly—“if he didn’t pay just yet—if you waited a little longer?”
“I’m afraid I don’t see with what object,” he returned coldly.
Ann caught her lip between her teeth. Oh, how difficult men were when it came to any question of money! How hard! Hardening all at once into cold and implacable strangers.
“Why—why—” she said entreatingly. “Tony hasn’t got the money to pay you with just now, and if you’ll only wait a little—give him a little time to pay—Oh, Brett, won’t you do it?”
“Wait for my money, you mean?”