'What makes you think Mr Vince is rich, father?' she asked.
Mr Warden was embarrassed. The subject of Mr Vince's opulence had not entered into his discourse. He had carefully avoided it. The fact that he was thinking of it and that Ruth knew that he was thinking of it, and that he knew that Ruth knew, had nothing to do with the case. The question was not in order, and it embarrassed him.
'I—why—I don't—I never said he was rich, my dear. I have no doubt that he has ample—'
'He is quite poor.'
Mr Warden's jaw fell slightly.
'Poor? But, my dear, that's absurd!' he cried. 'Why, only this evening—'
He broke off abruptly, but it was too late.
'Father, you've been borrowing money from him!'
Mr Warden drew in his breath, preparatory to an indignant denial, but he altered his mind and remained silent. As a borrower of money he had every quality but one. He had come to look on her perspicacity in this matter as a sort of second sight. It had frequently gone far to spoiling for him the triumph of success.
'And he has to pawn things to live!' Her voice trembled. 'He was at the mont-de-piete today. And yesterday too. I heard him. He was arguing with M. Gandinot—haggling—'