What Ruth had seen could not be ignored, yet she could not go to Gloria and tell her that she had deliberately peeked through keyholes, especially as there was no way of proving that she had seen what she had seen. George did not practise his rites every night or Amy would have long since fled in terror. The only thing to do was to try and persuade Gloria to discharge George for some other cause, or failing that, to watch an opportunity to show Gloria what she had seen. But perhaps Gloria already knew. That did not seem exactly probable, but Gloria was a strange woman and she said that George had been in her service a long time—before her marriage to Professor Pendragon. Perhaps Professor Pendragon— Her thoughts lost themselves in trying to unravel the tangled skein of Professor Pendragon, Gloria and her marriages, George and his evident connection with everything. She remembered George’s warning whisper of the night before. Pendragon might be able to explain everything to her, but she could not ask him about George without also giving him information of Gloria, a thing she had promised not to do. The night before she had thought that she might go direct to Gloria with her story about George, but in the light of morning it sounded both fantastic and unreal—as foolish as the fears of the superstitious Amy had seemed before she, herself, had investigated her wild story. She would be late to class this morning, for she had waked late and had dressed slowly with her thoughts. On her way downstairs she passed Gloria’s room. The door was open and Gloria was sitting up in bed surrounded by innumerable papers. “Are you in a hurry?” she called. “No, not much,” which was true, for being already late, Ruth was wondering whether it would be worth while to try and attend her first class. “Perhaps you can help me out—can’t make anything of all this,” said Gloria. “What is it?” “Bills and my bank account—they don’t seem to match somehow.” She thrust a mass of papers toward Ruth, who sat down on the side of the bed and began to look at them. She picked up an assortment of bills, some of them months old, some of them just arrived, some of them mere statements of indebtedness, others with pertinent phrases attached thereto, such as “An immediate settlement will be appreciated.” Ruth found a pencil and a pad and began to add up the various amounts—they totalled several thousand dollars. The idea of so much indebtedness frightened Ruth. All her life she had been accustomed to paying for things when she got them. Since coming to New York she had discovered that this was bourgeoise and inartistic, but training and heredity were stronger than environment with her and she still had a horror of debt. However, she tried to conceal her surprise. “Now, if you’ll let me see your check book and your pass book, perhaps we can discover why they don’t match,” she suggested.