Graham shook her off. "Please don't," he said. "Just pack your things and dress yourself. All I've got to say to you is that I've found you out. Perhaps you'd better go back to Papowsky's. You're very clever,—they all say so there. Find another damned young fool—that'll be easy."
The girl suddenly threw back her head and broke into an amazing laugh. The sound of it,—so merry—so full of a sort of elfin amusement,—was as startling to the two boys as though a bomb had been dropped into the room. "I could not find such a damned fool as you," she said loudly and coarsely, "eef I 'unted the earth. Eef you 'ad waited to come until to-night you would 'ave found zis little nest empty and ze bird flown. There ees a better boob zan you. Perhaps you met 'im going out. 'E marries me to-morrow. I vas to keep zat for a leetle surprise. Oh, yes, I am clever, and eet kills me with laughing to zee you stand there like a school teacher. You turn over a new leaf now, eh? Zat ees good. Zo do I. To-morrow I am a wife. I marry a man. My time with babies ees over."
She picked up a glass that was half-full of beer and with a gesture of supreme contempt jerked it into Graham's face. Then, with the quickness of an eel, she returned to her bedroom and slammed the door. They heard her laughing uncontrollably.
Graham wiped his face with his handkerchief, and dropped it on the floor with a shiver. "I shan't want to borrow any money from you, Peter," he said in a low voice. "Let's go."
And they went out into the street together—into the sun, and took a long breath of relief—a long, clean breath, untainted by stale tobacco smoke and beer and the pungent scent of Ita Strabosck.
Peter made no attempt to put into words his intense sympathy, but he took his brother's arm and held it tight, and Graham was very grateful. Right out of the very bottom of his heart two tears welled up into his eyes as he walked away.
After all, he was only twenty-four.
IV
On her way up to her room that night, Ethel drew up short outside Graham's bedroom door. She knew that he was in, which was in itself unusual. She thought there must be something the matter, because she had seen Graham leave the house in the morning long after his usual time. She had also watched his face at dinner and had seen in it something that frightened her. It was true that Peter was her favorite brother, but she was very fond of and had great admiration for Graham. Also she, herself, was in trouble. Trouble seemed to be an epidemic in that family. Her Knight Errant next door, in spite of her signalling and the fact that she had laid out as usual the cigarettes and the candies, had deserted her. In order to receive his visits and feed herself on the excitement with which they provided her, she was still maintaining her pretence of invalidism, and the worst of it was she now knew that she had grown to be very fond of the boy, who at first had only been a source of amusement.