“As a matter of fact,” he remarked, “you do not know yourself. You are just going to drift out of this place and very likely find your way to a seat on the Embankment again.”
Her lips quivered. She had tried to be brave but it was hard.
“Not necessarily,” she replied. “Something may turn up.”
He leaned a little across the table towards her.
“Listen,” he said, deliberately, “I will make a proposition to you. It has come to me during the last few minutes. I am tired of the boarding-house and I wish to leave it. The work which I do at night is becoming more and more important. I should like to take two rooms somewhere. If I take a third, would you care to call yourself what I called you to the charwoman last night—my sister? I should expect you to look after the meals and my clothes, and help me in certain other ways. I cannot give you much of a salary,” he continued, “but you would have an opportunity during the daytime of looking out for some work, if that is what you want, and you would at least have a roof and plenty to eat and drink.”
She looked at him in blank amazement. It was obvious that his proposition was entirely honest.
“But, Mr. Tavernake,” she protested, “you forget that I am not really your sister.”
“Does that matter?” he asked, without flinching. “I think you understand the sort of person I am. You would have nothing to fear from any admiration on my part—or anything of that sort,” he added, with some show of clumsiness. “Those things do not come in my life. I am ambitious to get on, to succeed and become wealthy. Other things I do not even think about.”
She was speechless. After a short pause, he went on.
“I am proposing this arrangement as much for my own sake as for yours. I am very well read and I know most of what there is to be known in my profession. But there are other things concerning which I am ignorant. Some of these things I believe you could teach me.”