“I felt that I ought to understand you fully,” said Atherton, with cold politeness. “It's only necessary to know what sum you require.”
Clara flung up her veil and confronted him with an excited face. “Mr. Atherton, I don't wish a loan; I can't permit it; and you know that my principles are entirely against anticipating interest.”
Atherton, from stooping over his table, pencil in hand, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her with a smile that provoked her: “Then may I ask what you wish me to do?”
“No! I can't instruct you. My affairs are in your hands. But I must say—” She bit her lip, however, and did not say it. On the contrary she asked, rather feebly, “Is there nothing due on anything?”
“I went over it with you, last month,” said Atherton patiently, “and explained all the investments. I could sell some stocks, but this election trouble has disordered everything, and I should have to sell at a heavy loss. There are your mortgages, and there are your bonds. You can have any amount of money you want, but you will have to borrow it.”
“And that you know I won't do. There should always be a sum of money in the bank,” said Clara decidedly.
“I do my very best to keep a sum there, knowing your theory; but your practice is against me. You draw too many checks,” said Atherton, laughing.
“Very well!” cried the lady, pulling down her veil. “Then I'm to have nothing?”
“You won't allow yourself to have anything,” Atherton began. But she interrupted him haughtily.
“It is certainly very odd that my affairs should be in such a state that I can't have all the money of my own that I want, whenever I want it.”