“Not yet quite thirty,” said he.
“And you said you were married?”
“I was—once.”
“Then what are you doing here? What were you doing there in my apartments in New York? Don’t you ever stop to think?”
“I’ve stopped to think about everything in my life except this. But now all that’s done. I’m not going back to school any more.” He looked directly at her now.
“Why? What do you mean? Why do you say that? You talk foolish! Why, listen, where do you get this sort of stuff, anyhow? What are you making me out to be? Have I ever asked anything of you, I’d like to know? What do I owe you, or you owe me? I don’t get you, neighbor.”
“No, I reckon not,” said David Joslin, still staring at her steadily from his end of the sofa in the dim light. “I don’t reckon you do. I don’t reckon a woman like you can understand a man like me.”
“Am I so bad, then? God! I wish there wasn’t a man in all the world, that’s all—I’m sick of them! I’ve got to make a living, haven’t I? Well, it’s jolly hard business sometimes to do that. Why, listen—it’s only an angel, and a good one, that’s kept us on our feet. I’m wearing all my old clothes and hats and things. And I don’t know if I can go back to Broadway again. You don’t have all the trouble in the world.”
“An angel?” said David Joslin, not in the least understanding her, more than she had him in his last remark, which she thought so slighting to herself. “Yes, I reckon it was an angel brought you to me. I was walking through here, going back to my school, and here I find you! It was as though an angel of heaven had brought us two together. What for?”
“You can search me!” said Polly Pendleton. “I haven’t got the answer. All sorts of things happen in this game, of course, but I’m free to say I wasn’t looking for you to-night—and to tell the truth”—she rippled out in laughter again—“I don’t know what to do with you now I’ve got you. Won’t you please go away? I’m getting pretty hungry, man!”