The pedlar began to look uneasy. "Don't ask too many questions. We call it Taedium Vitae. It is a splendid thing."
Rose was highly educated, and she told him that Taedium Vitae meant life-weariness, and that she would like to know how it acted.
"You go down the hill," said the old man absent-mindedly, as if he were speaking to himself, "and then, of course, you come to the pine wood."
Rose nodded. "Yes, I know it. Through the wood is the short cut if you are going to the station. The stile is rather awkward to climb over."
"You can manage it all right. You have done it before. And you know the dark pool under the trees?"
Rose nodded. This time she did not speak.
"That's another short cut," said the old man with a chuckle. "It's soon over. The sensation of drowning is said to be quite pleasant. Then there is no more trouble—no more worrying because you have lost love, and because life has lost its savour."
Rose was rather frightened. "When do I pay you?" she asked in a husky whisper.
"That's all right," said the old man ingratiatingly. "You don't pay me till afterwards. We give credit."
"Afterwards?"