“Time enough after you marry,” she said deliberately, and lighted a cigarette from a candle, recreating her knees the other way.
He considered her, started to speak, checked himself, and swung around to the desk again. His pen hovered over the space to be filled in. He tried to recollect the amount, hesitated, dated the cheque and affixed his signature, still trying to remember; then he looked at her over his shoulder.
“I forget the exact amount.”
She surveyed him through the haze of her cigarette, but made no answer.
“I forget the amount,” he repeated.
“So do I,” she nodded indolently.
“But I—”
“Let it go. Besides, I shall not accept it.”
He flushed up, astonished. “You can't refuse to take a gambling debt.”
“I do,” she retorted coolly. “I'm tired of taking your money.”