"Get out!" he shouted. "How dare you trouble me about your dirty money? Good God! Lines such as I had, ready to put down, and to have them ruined by a greedy, good-for-nothing little servant girl! I _have_ no money. If I had, I wouldn’t give it to you. You don’t deserve it. Idling away your time, aping your betters, draggling about in their cast-off finery! If they weren’t both of them lazy and worthless themselves, they’d have turned you out long ago. Get out!" And he caught her by the arm and thrust her into the hall, slamming the door behind her. Angelica rushed up-stairs like a whirlwind and into Polly’s room, panting, quite beside herself with fury. "Him!" she cried. "He turned me out! Took me by the arm and shoved me out into the hall! He----” Polly had been putting on her hat before the mirror, but she threw it down in haste, to give all her attention to this frantic young thing. "What were you saying to him?" she asked, mildly. "Nothing! Not a blame thing! Only just asking him for my money, like you told me. Ah, he’s a fine feller, he is! The names he called me--and just last night crying and saying he couldn’t live away from me!" And she told all the story to Polly--even showed her Vincent’s letter. "Now!" she said. "Give me my carfare, and I’ll go." "I have nothing. Perhaps Mrs. Russell----” But Mrs. Russell was out. Polly was in misery. There was this terrible girl, demanding her money, implacably waiting for it, this girl whom her husband had treated so shockingly. Her only wish in life was to be rid of her. "Take my ring," she said. "It’s worth ten times what you want." "I can’t buy a ticket with it. I don’t believe you have any money, the lot of you!" Paradise was lost, her hopes destroyed, her pride mortally wounded; so, having nothing to lose, she let herself go. She threw off all restraint; she was as coarse, as fierce, as she wished to be. Polly was wonderfully patient with the girl. "You shall be paid," she said. "I’ll go down with you to Mr. Geraldine. If he hasn’t any ready money, he’ll write you a cheque." He still sat there writing. He paid no attention to them as they opened the door and went in. "Vincent!" said Polly. "Will you please write a cheque for Angelica at once?" Then he laid down his pen and looked at them for a long time in contemptuous silence. "I told her," he said, "just what I shall tell you. I have no money." "But, Vincent, a cheque----” He smiled, pulled a cheque-book out of his pocket, and wrote. Tearing out a leaf, he handed it to Angelica. She stared at it. "What do you mean?" she cried. Polly looked over her shoulder. "Please don’t joke, Vincent," she said. "Please give her what is due her." For he had drawn a cheque for ten thousand dollars. "My dear Polly, any cheque I wrote would be equally ridiculous. There’s nothing in the bank." "Then where is it, Vincent?" "I’ve told you. My investments----” "But my income? Surely that----” He began to show irritability.