“We?”
“Yes, we!” he repeated; but his face had grown ghastly, and his uncertain eyes were fastened on her's in the mirror.
“What do you mean—exactly?” she asked, turning from the dresser to confront him.
He made no effort to answer; an expression of dull fright was growing on his visage, as though for the first time he had begun to realise what had happened.
She saw it, and her heart quickened, but she spoke disdainfully: “Well, I am ready to listen—as usual. How much do you want?”
He made no sign; his lower lip hung loose; his eyes blinked at her.
“What is it?” she repeated. “What have you been doing? How much have you lost? You can't have lost very much; we hadn't much to lose. If you have given your note to any of those gamblers, it is a shame—a shame! Leroy, look at me! You promised me, on your honour, never to do that again. Have you lied, after all the times I have helped you out, stripped myself, denied myself, put off tradesmen, faced down creditors? After all I have done, do you dare come here and ask for more—ask for what I have not got—with not one bill settled, not one servant paid since December—”
“Leila, I—I've got—to tell you—”
“What?” she demanded, appalled by the change in his face. If he was overdoing it, he was overdoing it realistically enough.
“I—I've used Plank's cheque!” he mumbled, and moistened his lips with his tongue.