"Mr. Hockley," I contrived to say, "I never meant to go on as far as this. I have no money—at least, not here; I can only give you my I.O.U. Will you please tell me how much it is?"
He went on deliberately checking the figures; did not even look at me as he said the amount, yawning over it a little as he spoke. It was over seventy pounds; and I seemed to understand that my guardian owed him something also.
"I can only give you my I.O.U.," I repeated, as I drew a scrap of paper towards me, and steadied my hand to write.
"That's no good to me," he said, "not worth the paper it's written on. I've one already of yours, and what's it worth?"
"You will be paid," I said, with a helpless look at my guardian.
"If you play with gentlemen, why don't you pay like a gentleman," retorted Hockley, snatching at my scrap of paper, and getting to his feet. "I can't think what Fanshawe ever meant by bringing you into a man's business at all; this game isn't for boys."
"Be careful, Hockley!" I cried, making a movement towards him.
"To the devil with you!" he exclaimed violently. "I've had enough of your sour looks, and your threats, and your high-handed ways. Of course we're all sorry for you; you must be feeling a bit sore to-night," he sneered.
I controlled my tongue even then; I remembered the face of Barbara; I remembered the words of her note: "I love you and I trust you; you are going always to be very brave and very gentle, so that I may carry that memory of you in my heart." No such bully as this should break down my resolution; there was a power in me greater than he suspected.