"Oh, if only Theo were here!" she lamented. "He would never be unkind to me, I know." Yet the ground of her woe reminded her sharply that if her husband had knowledge of the bills lying at that moment in her davenport, he might possibly be so unkind to her--as she phrased it--that she did not dare tell him the truth. He had spoken to her once on the subject of debt in no uncertain terms; and she had resolved thenceforth to deal with her inevitable muddles in her own way,--the simple fatal way of letting things slide, and hoping that they would somehow come right in the end. But there seemed no present prospect of such a consummation; and for a while she gave herself up to a luxury of self-pity. Tides in her mind ebbed and flowed aimlessly as seaweed. Everything was hopeless and miserable. It was useless trying to be good; and she supposed Honor would never help her again. Then her thoughts stumbled on the Kresneys. It must be nearly half-past six, and dinner was at a quarter past eight. But, as things now stood, their coming was impossible. She must send them a note to say Honor was not well; for who could tell how this new, angry Honor might choose to behave if they arrived in spite of all? The need for action roused her, and she went over to her davenport. But on lifting the lid her eyes fell upon the little sheaf of bills--and again the Kresneys faded into insignificance. She took up the detested slips of paper; laid them out one by one on the table; and, sitting down before them, contemplated them with knitted brows and a hopeless droop of her lips. No need to look into them in detail. She knew their contents, and the sum of them by heart. She knew that they amounted in all to more than six hundred rupees; and that another four hundred, possibly more, was still owing in different directions. Where in all the world was such a sum to be found without Theo's help? An appeal to Honor would be worse than useless. Honor was so stupid about such things. Her one idea would be immediate confession. A hazy notion haunted Evelyn that people who were in straits borrowed money from somewhere, or some one. But her knowledge of this mysterious transaction went no further; and even she was able to perceive that from so nebulous a starting-point no definite advance could be made. She had also heard of women selling their jewels, and wondered vaguely who were the convenient people who bought them; though this alternative did not commend itself to her in any case. Yet by some means the money must be found. Her earliest creditors were beginning to assert themselves; to thank her in advance for sums which she saw no hope of sending them; and, worse than all, she lived in daily dread lest any of them should be inspired to apply to Theo himself. Look where she would a blank wall confronted her; and in the midst of the blankness she sat, a dainty, dejected figure, with her pitiless pile of bills. "Krizney, Miss Sahib, _argya_."[19] [19] Has come.