He meant his smile to be bitter, but somehow it was not. After all, she was so helpless and so young.
"Of course you are going to take it."
"I needn't ask what you think of me."
This time the smile was bitterness itself.
"But it's yours—what I owe you. I'm only paying it to-day instead of some other day."
"But you have not got to pay me anything. What do you think you're paying me for?"
"For your work, for the catalogue, of course."
"That infamous catalogue ought never to have been made—not by me at any rate."
"But you made it. You made it for me. I ordered it."
"You ordered it from my father. In ordinary circumstances you would have owed him fifteen pounds. But even he wouldn't take it now. I think he considers himself quite sufficiently paid."