"That's her!" he said, showing the portrait.
Humphrey kept his self-possession well. Neither by a look nor a word did he betray the past: there was nothing in his manner to show Beaver that the girl whose portrait he held in his hand was she whose lips had clung to his in the young, passionate kisses of yester-year.
But, as Humphrey looked on the face of Lilian Filmer, the same Lilian, even though the photograph was new, and the hair was done in a different fashion, an acute feeling of sorrow came over him, bringing with it the remembrance of aching days, of the early beginnings, of those meetings and partings, and hearts that strained, and he saw the reflection of himself, foolish and cruel, mistaking the shadow for the substance, struggling and struggling, all for nothing ... for not even as much as Beaver had gained.
She looked at him out of the eyes of her photograph, and about her lips there still hovered that smile which had always been a riddle to him; a smile of indulgent love, or contempt? Who knows—a woman's smile is the secret of her sex. Yet now, it seemed, her lips were curved in triumph. This was her revenge on him, that he should go for ever loveless through the world, while she should steal into a haven of welcome peace.
Beaver's voice brought him back to physical things. She would kiss Beaver's shaggy-moustached lips, and his arms would catch her in an embrace.... How soon she had forgotten ... he thought, unreasonably.... She might have waited.... She might have understood....
"Well?" said Beaver, awaiting praise. "You've had a good old look."
"She's awfully nice and charming," Humphrey answered, returning the photograph. "She's like somebody I know."
"Oh, you've probably seen the original, old man, when you used to come and call for me. She used to be one of the girls in our office."
He had forgotten that lunch in the Fleet Street public-house, when Humphrey had asked for the name of the girl.
Used to be one of the girls in the office! Then Lilian had left. He wondered what she was doing, and an impulse that could not be withstood, compelled him to find out whether she had ever mentioned him to Beaver.