“I had a letter—“—sobs—“from the bank this morning.”
“FROM DE BANK?”
“Telling me they were sending me so much per month, from him, as an allowance, and that he was quite well, but he was travelling.”
“Well then, why not let him travel? You can live.”
“But to leave me alone,” there was burning indignation in her voice. “To go off and leave me with every responsibility, to leave me with all the burden.”
“Well I wouldn't trouble about him. Aren't you better off without him?”
“I am. I am,” she cried fiercely. “When I got that letter this morning, I said MAY EVIL BEFALL YOU, YOU SELFISH DEMON. And I hope it may.”
“Well-well, well-well, don't fret. Don't be angry, it won't make it any better, I tell you.”
“Angry! I AM angry. I'm worse than angry. A week ago I hadn't a grey hair in my head. Now look here—” There was a pause.
“Well-well, well-well, never mind. You will be all right, don't you bother. Your hair is beautiful anyhow.”