He waited a moment, but no one said anything. Then he and his colleague sat down at a table as far away as they could get.
“Why didn’t you keep still?” said Edward in a low, fierce voice. “He’s editor of the newspaper here.”
“Did you imagine I was that sort of woman?” she returned. “Did you think I would pretend to be the wife of a perfect stranger?”
“No,” said Edward; “but you didn’t need to say anything. He’ll talk[Pg 231]—”
“Do you imagine I care?” said she.
Of course she didn’t. Women care only for themselves. Edward could not trust himself to speak, but he thought. He thought.
“I’ll find out who she is,” he said to himself, “so that I can send her back for the money for her ham and eggs.”
A dismal bellow pierced the night.
“The eleven forty pulling out,” observed the editor to his companion.
Edward heard this.