“I do not know who he is,” Brendon said quietly, “but he will not forget.”
Anna shrugged her shoulders lightly.
“Who can tell?” she said. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. It is generally deficient in the qualities it prides itself upon most. Men do not understand constancy as women do.”
Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point.
“We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning. I have yet another. Let me lend you some money. Between comrades it is the most usual thing in the world, and I do not see how your sex intervenes. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. Then we can look out together for such employment—as would be more suitable for you. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. You cannot refuse me this.”
He looked at her anxiously, and she met his glance with a dazzling smile of gratitude.
“Indeed,” she said, “I would not. But it is no longer necessary. I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. I will tell you what you shall give me, if you like.”
“Well?”
“Lunch! I am hungry—tragically hungry.”