It will give you ready
money. And it will save me from having to pay perhaps a greater sum--later.
That is...."
Gilbert was incensed. "We don't want your money!" he cried. And Lucia
treated the suggestion with the scorn it deserved.
Pell looked at them both. "No? Well, in that case, I suppose there's
nothing more to be said."
"And we are free to go?" Lucia cried, unbelieving.
Her husband puffed again. "Why not? I know I shan't stop you." Suddenly he
dropped his cigarette, leaned heavily against the table, swayed a bit, and
put his hand to his head. The old pain was returning.
"You're suffering?" Lucia asked, alarmed. A strange pallor had come over
him.
"I regret--that water--I gave away so liberally," Pell said, his voice
weak.
"There's more," Gilbert cried. "I'll get it." He went hurriedly to the
kitchen.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Lucia asked, sympathy in her tone.
Always with her was the womanly instinct to serve, to help. Morgan was like
a wounded animal to her, and as deserving of attention as any hurt thing.
"No, thank you," he said.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I ..."
Gilbert was back with another canteen. He went close to Pell and put the
jug to his lips, standing by his side, leaning over to proffer the cooling
water.
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