“The amount you’ve saved, my girl,” he declared, “will last you for just about five weeks.”
“What do you know about how much I’ve put by?” she demanded.
“I can tell you the sum to within a pound. I can write it down now, if you’ll lend me a lead pencil.”
He scribbled some figures on the margin of his newspaper, and handed it across to her.
“Guess again!” she said.
“It isn’t a question of guessing,” he said. “I happen to know. Unless you’ve made a considerable sum within the last three months, that’s the exact amount.”
“You really believed, then, what Mr. Miller told you?”
The conductor came, and returned to each the green cardboard covers enclosing their tickets. Under the impression that Chiswell was still a blade, a chum, a jovial companion, the conductor aimed at him a cheerful blow on the shoulder, and the train giving at this moment a lurch, the action took something of a more aggressive nature. Chiswell blazed up, trying to disengage himself from his coat. Other passengers in the saloon looked around interestedly; Miss Everitt interposed and ordered Chiswell to behave himself, to remember that he was in the presence of ladies. The conductor apologised and went on; the French passengers remarked to each other that the English formed an excitable nation.
“Pardon me,” said Chiswell to his companion, “but I should like to know your facts. I should be very glad indeed if you’ll kindly place me in possession of the true circumstances. To put it plainly—here’s your pencil—how much have you actually got in the bank on deposit, or on current account at the present moment? That’s all I want to know.”
She struck out his figures and wrote underneath. Leaning over he gave a whistle of astonishment.