It was not until the house was quiet, and Barney had retired to his room, that Madge found her opportunity. Then she knocked softly at the door, was told to come in, and entered, to find Barney hastily covering up a bundle of papers. The action, the glimpse at the papers which showed them so surely to be tradesmen’s bills, fired Madge with fresh indignation. She looked fixedly at the boy, and he returned her gaze with surprised inquiry.
“Well! What do you want?”
“I want a little conversation with you apart from the rest. I was in that tobacconist’s shop this afternoon when you came in, Barney—that is to say, I was in the room behind the shop putting a few last touches to my sketch.”
“Well!”
“The door was open, and I heard what you said.”
Barney sat down on a chair, stretched out his legs, stuck his hands in his pockets, and looked at her with an air of insolent calm. The worried, downcast air which he had worn on her entrance disappeared as if by magic; his face was hard, stubborn, and defiant.
“Well—and what if you did?”
“What if I did? You can ask me that, when by your own confession you are betting and gambling, and leading a double life—when you are throwing away money which is needed for daily bread!”
“I never threw away any of your money, did I? You mind your own business, Madge, and leave me to mind mine.”
“It is my business to look after you and keep you out of mischief. Where did you get that five pounds? It is bad enough that you should have lost it, but did you get it honestly, in the first place?”