Down in the living-room, Ambrose North was inquiring restlessly for Barbara. "Yes," he said, somewhat impatiently, "I know she's upstairs, for you've told me so twice. What I want to know is, why doesn't she come down?"
"She's busy at something, probably," returned Miriam, with forced carelessness, "but I think she'll soon be through."
"Barbara is always busy," he answered, with a sigh. "I can't understand it. Anyone might think she had to work for a living. By the way, Miriam, do you need more money?"
"We still have some," she replied, in a low voice.
"How much?" he demanded.
"Less than a hundred dollars." She did not dare to say how much less.
"That is not enough. If you will get my check-book, I will write another check."
The Old Check-Book
Miriam's face was grimly set and her eyes burned strangely beneath her dark brows. She went to the mahogany desk and took an old check-book out of the drawer.
"Now," he said, as she gave him the pen and ink, "please show me the line. 'Pay to the order of'——"