"And about what we owed him?"
"Yes."
"And he was angry?"
"I had been speaking of that; and—Ruby, what do we owe him? I—I must send him a cheque. I must send it to him to-night."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't know. He'll open his mouth very wide, no doubt, now you've quarrelled."
"I think—I'm sure that you wrong him there," Nigel said, slowly.
"Do you think so? Well, I must go up and take a bath. I may be a good while."
"Let me come and sit with you. Shall I? I mean in a few minutes."
"Not just yet. Better try and calculate out your debt to Doctor Isaacson."