He got up, glanced at the whisky-and-soda on the table, then impulsively linked his arm in that of his brother-in-law, all his sullenness gone like a storm-cloud.
"You're quite right, old fellow. I have had as much of that stuff as is good for me. Forgive me for being such a bear. I didn't mean it."
Mordaunt paused. He had never dealt with anyone quite so bewilderingly changeable before. "I wish I knew how to treat you," he said, after a moment.
"Oh, pitch into me! It's the only way." Rupert's smile flashed suddenly upon him. "I've been an ungrateful brute, and I'm ashamed of myself. Seriously, Trevor, I'm sorry. I sometimes think to myself it's downright disgusting the way we all sponge on you. It's deuced good of you to put up with it."
Mordaunt still regarded him with close attention. But there was no doubt in his mind as to the boy's sincerity: he only wondered how long this contrite mood would last.
"I am always willing to help you to the best of my ability," he said. "But I think you might play the game. I can't keep pouring water into a sieve."
"It's not to be expected," Rupert agreed. "And I hate asking you for more money. I'm an absolute cur to do it. But--" he broke off, and pulled his hand free--"for goodness' sake, man, if you can--just this once--"
Mordaunt crossed the room to his writing-table, unlocked a drawer, took out a cheque-book.
"I say, you are a good chap!" Rupert protested. "Can you make it a hundred?"
"Will that settle everything?" Mordaunt asked.
Mordaunt wrote the cheque in silence. He handed it over his shoulder finally to the boy behind him.
"It's for a hundred and fifty. I hope that will see you through. And look here, Rupert, do for Heaven's sake pull up and keep within bounds. I am quite willing to help you to a reasonable extent, but you must do your part, too. You are living at an insane rate. Do you keep an account of your expenditure?"
"Of course I don't!" Rupert seemed astonished at the question. "What on earth would be the good of that? It wouldn't reduce my expenses."
Mordaunt laid his cheque-book back in the drawer. "And you think you would make a good bailiff?" he said.
"Oh, that's different. Of course, you must have accounts for the management of an estate. You would have no cause to complain of me there. Are you going to think it over, I say?"