downright offensive, despite his wealth and his polished manner.
Carmelita had noticed her husband's growing restlessness and wondered about it, but she had other, sharper worries that occupied her mind now. Having settled the matter of the place cards by putting Dudley's next to her, with a silent hope that he would be more agreeable and light-hearted than he had been lately, she turned to find the butler with a letter for her. It bore a South American postmark and she opened it eagerly. The writing was in Spanish:
Carmelita's lips trembled. Then she walked over, letter in hand, into the living-room and to a little mahogany desk in the corner. From a drawer she drew out a formidable heap of unpaid bills—dressmakers', grocers', florists', and other tradespeople's—and stared at them abstractedly. No use looking at them again. That did not make them less.
