“Pray do not mention it, sir,” said Miss Letty with her old-fashioned courtesy. “I am quite ready to attend to business at any time. Excuse my not rising to receive you,—I am not very strong to-day.”
The clerk hesitated.
“Our cashier was not quite certain about this cheque,” he at last went on. “As it is not usual for you to draw such a large sum at once out of your current account, we thought it might be as well to make an inquiry before paying it——”
He paused, alarmed at the white face Miss Letty turned upon him.
“What cheque are you speaking of?” she asked. “For a large sum? Pray let me see it.”
He took out his pocket-book and handed her the cheque, carefully folded in two,—then awaited her response. With trembling fingers she opened it and read—“Pay to Robert D’Arcy-Muir the sum of £500.”
A dark mist swam before her eyes,—she turned faint and giddy—the room whirled round her in a circle of firelight and flowers, with the conventional figure of the bank clerk standing out angularly in the centre,—then with a strong mental effort she recovered herself and quietly re-folded the cheque.
“Yes!” she said faintly, then clearing her voice, she forced herself to speak more distinctly and to smile. “Yes!—it is quite right! Quite—correct!”
And she rose from her chair, her soft grey cashmeres falling about her, and the old lace kerchief knotted on her bosom heaving a little with her quickened breath. “It is quite correct,” she went on. “The young man—Mr. D’Arcy-Muir—presented it himself, no doubt?”
“Yes, madam,” said the clerk humbly, “he did, but—we thought it best to ask. Very sorry, I am sure, to have had any doubt! But you see the last ‘nought’ is not precisely in your usual way of finishing a figure—and—er—the sum being large——”