I should like to hear a little about Beatrice." Tavernake was dumb.
"I do not wish to talk about Beatrice," he declared, "until I understand the cause of this estrangement between you." Her eyes flashed angrily and her laugh sounded forced.
"Not even talk of her! My dear friend," she protested, "you scarcely repay the confidence I am placing in you!" "You mean the money ?" "Precisely," she continued.

"I trust you, why I do not know--I suppose because I am something of a physiognomist--with twelve thousand pounds of my hard-earned savings.

You refuse to trust me with even a few simple particulars about the life of my own sister.

Come, I don't think that things are quite as they should be between us." "Do you know where I first met your sister ?" Tavernake asked.
She shook her head pettishly.
"How should I?
You told me nothing." "She was staying in a boarding-house where I lived," Tavernake went on.
"I think I told you that but nothing else.

It was a cheap boarding-house but she had not enough money to pay for her meals.