“That's what you called him once before. You see I remember. He is very fond of sherry and bitters. But I was saying that Harry would keep on interfering with me, pulling me over the coals. We had such dreadful rows. He accused me of having gone with gentlemen to their rooms—a thing I never did. I could stand it no longer, and we agreed to part.”
“How long is that ago?”
“About three weeks. I could stand it no longer, I couldn't remain at the 'Gaiety,' so I resolved to leave.”
“Why couldn't you remain at the 'Gaiety,' the manager didn't know anything about it?”
“No, he knew nothing about it, it wouldn't have mattered if he had, but after a break up like that you can't remain among people you know—you want to get right away; there's nothing like a change. Besides I mightn't get such a good chance again; I had the offer of a very good place in Brighton, and I took it—a new restaurant, they open to-morrow. I get thirty pounds a year and my food.”
“And lodging?”
“No, they are very short of accommodation, and I have taken a room in one of the streets close by—Preston Street. Do you know it?”
“Perfectly, off the Western Road.”
“The lady who has the house knew my poor mother—a very nice woman—will let me have a bedroom for five shillings a week, and I shall be allowed to use her sitting-room when I want it, which, of course, won't be very often, for I shall be at business all day.”
The train rolled along the platform; Frank asked the porter when there would be a train for Southwick, and was told he would have half an hour to wait.