"Kenneth!" his sister said, with pretended indignation.
"Look at me! She's making me compile a book about poverty that'll be nothing but statistics—who wants them outside blue books. She's got me in her toils."
The phrase amused Humphrey: he thought of Lilian, and began comparing her with the woman next to him. Of course, they were not alike; the comparison irritated him, why compare people so entirely different. One might know Elizabeth Carr for years, and yet never know her; Lilian was different. She seemed simpler, and yet.... He wondered if Lilian had ever heard of the Blind Alley, or bothered about the people who have no chance.
When the dinner was finished, and they were all settling down to chatter, the telephone bell rang. Wratten went to answer it. "It's the office," Mrs Wratten said, with disappointment in her voice.
Wratten came back. "I'm frightfully sorry," he said. "The office wants me ... Collard's arrested." He went over to his wife. "I shall be late, dear, don't sit up," he said.
"Who's Collard?" she asked.
"Oh! the Company promoter—reg'lar crook—but he might have waited until the morning to be arrested."
"Filthy luck!" he grumbled, as he reappeared, shouldering himself into his overcoat. "Having to leave all you people like this.... Can't be helped."
The maid came in with coffee. Wratten gulped a thimbleful, kissed his wife, and went out. The evening seemed to have lost something of its pleasure with his sudden departure. They fell to talking over the ways of work and the calls of the office. It was as if Fleet Street had suddenly asserted itself, and shown the futility of trying to escape from it even for a few hours.
"Poor Mr Wratten," Elizabeth Carr sighed, "I do think they're heartless."