"What will you do?"
"I must, of course, lend you some of my own."
Delia flushed violently.
"That is surely absurd, Mr. Winnington! My father left a large sum!"
"As his trustee I can only repeat that until some further securities are realised—which may take a little time—I have no money. But you must have money—servants and tradesmen can't go unpaid. I will give you, therefore, a cheque on my own bank—to replace that £500."
He drew his cheque book from his breast pocket. Delia was stormily walking up and down. It struck him sharply, first that she was wholly taken by surprise; and next that shock and emotion play finely with such a face as hers. He had never seen her so splendid. His own pulses ran.
"This—this is not at all what I want, Mr. Winnington! I want my own money—my father's money! Why should I distress and inconvenience you?"
"I have tried to explain."
"Then let the lawyers find it somehow. Aren't they there to do such things?"
"I assure you this is simplest. I happen"—he smiled—"to have enough in the bank. Alice and I can manage quite well till January!"