He dabbled the spoon uneasily in his tea, looking downcast. "I don't
quite see that," he objected, trying to rally his pluck, "why it should
be--naturally."

"Oh, don't you? To me it's self-evident. We may have lost money, but
we're still not--recipients of alms."

"This wasn't alms. It was four hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

She was plainly awe-struck. "That's a great deal; but I supposed it
would be something large. And yet the magnitude of the sum only makes it
the more impossible to accept."

"Y-es; of course--if you look at it in that way." He put back his cup on
the table untasted.

"Surely it's the only way to look at it? Aren't you going to drink your
tea?"

"No, I think not. I've had enough. I've--I've had enough--of
everything."

He sank back wearily into the depths of his arm-chair. The glitter had
passed from his eyes; he looked ill. He had clearly not enough courage
to make a stand for what he wanted. She could see how cruelly he was
disappointed. After all, he might have accepted the money and told her
nothing about it! He had taken her into his confidence because of that
need of expansion that had often led him to "give away" what a more
crafty man would have kept to himself. She was profiting by his
indiscretion to make what was already so hard for him still harder.