She did not turn round, and Fiorsen
paused. How was she going to receive him?
"Is there any lunch?" he said.
She reached out and rang the bell. He felt sorry for himself. He had
been quite ready to take her in his arms and say: "Forgive me, little
Gyp; I'm sorry!"
Betty answered the bell.
"Please bring up some lunch for Mr. Fiorsen."
He heard the stout woman sniff as she went out. She was a part of his
ostracism. And, with sudden rage, he said:
"What do you want for a husband--a bourgeois who would die if he missed
his lunch?"
Gyp turned round to him and held out her cheque-book.
"I don't in the least mind about meals; but I do about this." He read on
the counterfoil:
"Messrs. Travers & Sanborn, Tailors, Account rendered: L54 35s. 7d."
"Are there many of these, Gustav?"
Fiorsen had turned the peculiar white that marked deep injury to his
sell-esteem. He said violently:
"Well, what of that? A bill! Did you pay it? You have no business to pay
my bills."
"The man said if it wasn't paid this time, he'd sue you." Her lips
quivered. "I think owing money is horrible. It's undignified. Are there
many others? Please tell me!"
"I shall not tell you. What is it to you?"
"It is a lot to me. I have to keep this house and pay the maids and
everything, and I want to know how I stand. I am not going to make
debts. That's hateful.
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