"Your brother's friend Ruggles. . . . But look here. . . . He's something about the Court, isn't he? But look here. . . ." His mind stopped. He said: "People shouldn't overdraw. . . . But if your father said you could draw on him I'm really much concerned. . . . You're a first-rate fellow. . . . I can tell that from your pass-book alone. . . . Nothing but cheques drawn to first-class tradesmen for reasonable amounts. The sort of pass-book I liked to see when I was a junior clerk in the bank. . . ." At that early reminiscence feelings of pathos overcame him and his mind once more stopped. Sylvia came back into the room; they had not perceived her going. She in turn held in her hand a letter. Tietjens said: "Look here, Port Scatho, don't get into this state. Give me your word to do what you can when you've assured yourself the facts are as I say. I wouldn't bother you at all, it's not my line, except for Mrs. Tietjens. A man alone can live that sort of thing down, or die. But there's no reason why Mrs. Tietjens should live, tied to a bad hat, while he's living it down or dying." "But that's not _right_" Port Scatho said, "it's not the right way to look at it. You can't pocket . . . I'm simply bewildered. . . ." "You've no right to be bewildered," Sylvia said. "You're worrying your mind for expedients to save the reputation of your bank. We know your bank is more to you than a baby. You should look after it better, then." Port Scatho, who had already fallen two paces away from the table, now fell two paces back, almost on top of it. Sylvia's nostrils were dilated. She said: "Tietjens shall not resign from your beastly club. He shall not! Your committee will request him formally to withdraw his resignation. You understand? He will withdraw it. Then he will resign for good. He is too good to mix with people like you. . . ." She paused, her chest working fast. "Do you understand what you've got to do?" she asked. An appalling shadow of a thought went through Tietjens' mind: he would not let it come into words. "I don't know . . ." the banker said. "I don't know that I can get the committee . . ." "You've got to," Sylvia answered. "I'll tell you why . . . Christopher was never overdrawn. Last Thursday I instructed your people to pay a thousand pounds to my husband's account. I repeated the instruction by letter and I kept a copy of the letter witnessed by my confidential maid. I also registered the letter and have the receipt for it. . . . You can see them." Port Scatho mumbled from over the letter: "It's to Brownie . . . Yes, a receipt for a letter to Brownie . . ." She examined the little green slip on both sides. He said: "Last Thursday. . . . To-day's Monday. . . . An instruction to sell North-Western stock to the amount of one thousand pounds and place to the account of . . . Then . . ." Sylvia said: