"I have had them. But, thank you, I'm sorry I can't come. The--the money is much too small. I shall have to find something to do which will keep me. I am not well off. Good morning, Madame Schultze."
"You won't leave your name? I might find you something. My husband has a large acquaintance on the Stock Exchange, and we move in very good society," said Madame Schultze with a kind of indolent good-humour.
But Isla, with another hasty word of thanks, withdrew. She felt almost hysterical as the door was politely closed upon her by the foreign butler, and she dashed something like a tear from her eye.
"Serves you right, Isla Mackinnon, for all the airs you give yourself! Seven-and-six a week and the servants' luncheon! What would they say at home?"
She said "they," but it was the face of Peter Rosmead that came persistently before her--of Peter the Bridge-builder, with thousands in his pocket that he could not spend! Would Peter, if he met her in the park airing pet dogs for a livelihood, pass by, like a Levite, on the other side?
Her lip curled whimsically at the thought. She did not welcome the memory of Rosmead, which had come unsought. In her secret heart she felt disappointed that he had not written. True, he had not promised to do so, nor had he even asked whether he might. But other men did not wait for permission. Neil Drummond never lost an opportunity of speaking or writing to her, and often she did not trouble to read his letters through.
She was brought back from her reveries sharply by finding herself once more in the Bayswater Road with the rest of the day in front of her.
"I do want a good breakfast," she said to herself dolefully, for a few mouthfuls of the doubtful bread and butter provided by Arabella had more than satisfied her in "The Pictur Gallery".
Looking down the road towards Kensington, she saw that shops seemed to abound, and she proceeded to walk on. At length she came to a tea-shop, which she entered. There she ordered tea and a couple of poached eggs. These she consumed at a small round table drawn invitingly near a bright fire, where she was able to dry her boots and where she passed a very comfortable half-hour.
But it was all unreal. Once more she had the weird feeling that she was a character in a play and that she would soon awaken to the reality of things.