well that her words had been ungrateful and unjust; yet
in her heart she was more vexed with Honor for having pushed her into
a corner than with herself for her defensive flash of resentment. More
than all was she overwhelmed by a sense of utter helplessness, of not
knowing where to turn or what to do next.

"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 k