"Dick—for pity's sake—"
"Then answer me." And he raised his voice louder than before. "What are you doing with your private income?"
"This house costs something."
"Oh, this house can't stand you in much. Where does the rest go—if you aren't saving it? Are you giving it to Enid?... That's it, I suppose. If that lazy swine wants two hundred to buy himself another thoroughbred hunter, I suppose he sends Enid sneaking over here—when my back's turned—and just taps you for it. You don't refuse him. But if I come to you, it's 'No, certainly not. Do you want to ruin me?'"
"Dick!"
"Then, will you let me have it?"
Her face was drawn and haggard; she looked at him with piteous, imploring eyes; and she hesitated. But the hesitation was caused by dread of his wrath, and not by doubt as to her reply.
"Dick. I am sorry. But I cannot do it."
"Is that your answer?"
"Yes, that is my answer."