“When do you mean?” I didn’t ask you to come, I don’t want to talk to you you food-loving, pipe-loving, comfort-loving beast, she thought. But it would be impossible to finish the holiday and go back to the school with this strange statement uninvestigated.
“Well, when my sisters have young ladies in in the evening I always get out of the way.”
Ah, thought Miriam, you are one of those men who flirt with servants and shop-girls ... perhaps those awful women.... Either she must catch Eve up or wait for Harriett ... not be alone any longer with this man.
“I see. You simply run away from them,” she said scornfully; “go out for a walk or something.” A small Brixton sitting-room full of Brixton girls—Gerald said that Brixton was something too chronic for words, just like Clapham, and there was that joke about the man who said he would not go to heaven even if he had the chance because of the strong Clapham contingent that would be there—after all ...
“I go and sit in my room.”
“Oh,” said Miriam brokenly, “in the winter? Without a fire?”
Mr. Parrow laughed. “I don’t mind about that. I wrap myself up and get a book.”
“What sort of book?”
“I’ve got a few books of my own; and there’s generally something worth reading in ‘Tit-Bits.’”
How did he manage to look so refined and cultured? Those girls were quite good enough for him, probably too good. But he would go on despising them and one of them would marry him and give him beef-steak puddings. And here he was walking by the sea in the sunlight, confessing his suspicions and fears and going back to Brixton.