The mention of Mrs. Matheson was quite intolerable in Delia's ears. She turned upon him—
"I can't accept it! You oughtn't to ask it."
"I think you must accept it," he said with decision. "But the important question with me is—the further question—am I not really bound to restore this money to your father's estate?"
Delia stared at him bewildered.
"What do you mean!"
"Your father made me his trustee in order that I might protect his money—from uses of which he disapproved—and protect you, if I could, from actions and companions he dreaded. This £500 has gone—where he expressly wished it not to go. It seems to me that I am liable, and that I ought to repay."
Delia gasped.
"I never heard anything so absurd!"
"I will consider it," he said gravely. "It is a case of conscience. Meanwhile"—he began to write the cheque—"here is the money. Only, let me warn you, dear Miss Delia,—if this were repeated, I might find myself embarrassed. I am not a rich man!"
Silence. He finished writing the cheque, and handed it to her. Delia pushed it away, and it dropped on the table between them.