“I did not mean to mention that—­at least not now,” he said quickly.  “We’ll call it off and try to keep clean out of debt in the future.  I fear your allowance does seem rather shabby to you, but it can’t be helped.  It takes every cent of the balance to run the house and pay my life insurance.”

He waited an instant, hoping that his matter-of-fact statement of the situation—­his freedom from implied reproach—­might call forth some expression, however slight, of her appreciation.  But her glance flashed over him, critical, disapproving, and he became aware, through a wonder of intuition, that even at the moment she was possessed by her passion for externals, was weighing his personal details as he stood in the lamp light, and deciding impartially that he made but a poor physical showing.  Her unfavourable verdict was impressed upon him so strongly that it produced a revulsion of anger.  He felt, somehow, that their positions were reversed, that she had him now at her mercy, and failing to reduce him by flattery, had chosen to wither him by contempt.

“There’s not a woman I know who could dress decently on what I have,” she rejoined, skilfully adjusting him into the necessity of defence.

He gathered up the papers, and placing them in a drawer of his desk, closed it sharply.  There was a sordid indecency about the discussion which stung him like the stroke of a whip.

“I am sorry,” he returned coolly, “but I have done my best.  There is nothing more to be said.”  His eyes lingered for a moment on her thin bosom where the bones were beginning to be faintly visible through the ivory flesh.  Then he looked at her sharpened face and saw that the three little wrinkles were stamped indelibly between her eyebrows.  As he watched her she lifted her head with the babyish tilt he had first seen under cherry-coloured ribbons.  “I will find the money to send you to Florida,” he said slowly, “if you will promise me—­to give up drugs.”

She gathered her wraps about her and made a movement as if to leave the room.  “Drugs!  Why, how ridiculous!” she exclaimed with a laugh, though he felt the cold edge of hatred in her voice.

Still laughing, she went out and up the staircase, and a few minutes afterwards he heard her nervous step in the room above.  He took out the bills again and spent half the night in the effort to realise the exact amount of his indebtedness.

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH A LIE IS THE BETTER PART OF TRUTH

At breakfast Connie did not appear—­she had seemed to be asleep when he went into his dressing-room—­and it was not until one o’clock that he had a chance to speak to her again.  Luncheon was already on the table when he entered the dining-room, and Connie, in a green velvet gown and a little green velvet hat ornamented by a twinkling aigrette, was standing by the window looking out restlessly at the falling snow.