‘Here you are,’ said Mr. Berry, releasing the soda-water with a pop, and foaming the contents of the bottle into the glasses.
Paul groaned and drank, and by-and-by felt a little better. He would see Claudia, would decide on some scheme of action, however desperate, which would prevent him from wholly losing sight of her. He would release himself from his engagement with Darco. That made him feel like a hound, for who had been so good to him as Darco? Who had taken him out of hunger and trouble but Darco? He recalled himself characterless, despairing; he contrasted his old lot with the present. The change was all of Darco’s working, and he had grown to love the man, and the man on his side had given proofs enough of liking. It looked like a black ingratitude to leave him. It was what it looked like—neither more nor less. But, then, Claudia, Claudia, Claudia! How could he live without Claudia?
He looked at things all round. He had a fixed position, which was so excellent that he could not hope to mend it for years to come if he left it now. He had a true friend whose friendship he might lose if he left him now. He had perhaps an open avenue to fame, and it would close if he retired from it, and might never open any more. All these things he counted clearly, and reckoned the world well lost for Claudia.
The afternoon work was over, the pay-sheet initialled from top to bottom, the accounts made up and balanced, and the change and papers locked up in Darco’s cash-box. He was free to go to Claudia.
A fly carried him in ten minutes to her door, and she herself admitted him.
‘Come in, Paul,’ she said ‘I have been thinking, and I want to speak to you very, very seriously.’ She led him into her sitting-room. ‘Miss Pounceby is out for the day, so that we shall have time to talk together.’ Miss Pounceby was the ingénue, and she and Claudia lived together. ‘Sit down, dear, and let me see if I can’t bring you to reason.’
‘You can’t persuade me to lose you, Claudia,’ said Paul gloomily. ‘It isn’t to be done; it isn’t to be thought about.’
‘Silly boy!’ said Claudia, seating herself beside him, and taking his hand in both of hers, ‘you know I love you like a sister.’
‘I don’t want a sister’s love,’ said Paul. ‘I want you to marry me.’
‘Why, Paul,’ she answered, ‘the world would laugh at me. You are only just one-and-twenty; I am four years older. That is ages, you know, and it is ages on the wrong side.’