I saw that she was restless and with something on her
mind to tell me, but I was too old a stager to force a confidence,
least of all a woman's, and so I waited, said nothing, and blew
smoke rings.
"Hugo," she said, "there is something I wish to speak to you
about."
"I've known that for the last hour, Teresa," I said.
"This is something serious," she said, looking at me strangely.
"Blaze away," I said.
"Hugo," she broke out, "you have been borrowing money from my
father."
I nodded.
"A great deal of money," she went on.
"For him--no," I said. "For me--well, yes."
"Eight or nine hundred dollars," she said.
"Those are about the figures," I returned. "Call it nine hundred."
"Oh, how could you! How could you!" she exclaimed.
I remained silent. In fact I did not know what to say.
"Don't you see the position you're putting yourself in?" she said.
"Position?" I repeated. "What position?"
"It's horrible, it's ignoble," she broke out. "I have always
admired you for the way you kept yourself clear of such an
ambiguous relation--you've known to the fraction of an inch what
to take, what to refuse--to preserve your self-respect--my
respect--unimpaired. And here I see you slipping into degradation.
Oh, Hugo! I can't bear it."
"Is it such a crime to borrow a little money?" I asked.
"Not if you pay it back," she returned. "Not if you mean to pay it
back. But you know you can't. You know you won't!"
"You think it's the thin edge of the wedge?" I said.
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