“This is my wife, Brecky,” said Sands, in a tone of severe rebuke. “Kathleen’s second cousin, you know.”
“All right!” said Brecky.
His manners, usually punctilious, had deserted him entirely. What he wanted was for these people to clear out of their own room, and let him think for a moment; but the young woman sat down opposite him. She was rather nice-looking, in a shrewish way, but obviously hostile.
“She’s here,” she said.
Brecky sprang up.
“Let me see her!” he cried.
“I don’t think she wants to see you,” said the young woman. “I don’t blame her. If she takes my advice, she’ll never go back to you!”
Brecky looked at her steadily. He felt, however, that it was better not to say what he thought just then.
“You’re just making a drudge out of her,” the other went on. “It’s a shame—a pretty, lively young girl like Kathleen shut up in that awful place! All you care about is getting your meals cooked. I wouldn’t do it for any man. She’s sick and tired of it, I can tell you—being your cook. If she takes my advice, she’ll go back to her old job, where she’ll have a little money to spend and see a little life.”
“All right!” said Brecky again. “But maybe she doesn’t want to take your advice. Anyway, I’d like to ask her.”