“Fry’s married. Frederic told me.”
“I don’t think that makes a ha’porth of difference—to you or to him.”
“It isn’t your affair.”
“I agree.”
“And, anyhow, you’re quite wrong. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
[XIX
GERTRUDE]
| Nous mettons l’infini dans l’amour. Ce n’est pas lafaute des femmes. | ||
| ANATOLE FRANCE. | ||
UPON a day Bennett Lawrie escaped early from his office, leaving his day’s work to be finished by a co-junior clerk on a promise to do as much for him when he should require it. He was feeling very tired, having had only a walk and two cigarettes for dinner, a practice so common among junior clerks that they have a name for it—Flag Hash. Twice during Gertrude’s absence he had taken Annette and her mother to the theatre—three dress-circle seats at five shillings—a heavy drain upon his income, which was now one pound fifteen shillings a week, paid monthly. His mother knew nothing of the advance of five shillings a week that he had obtained on the third application with the plea that he was engaged to be married. That helped a little, but, even so, his position was serious, and at moments made him feel very sick at heart. He had been making efforts to save money when Mrs. Folyat’s expression of regret that she had not been to the theatre plunged him into the rash offer to pay for seats. He had no thought but that she would pay for two of them at least. But no; Mrs. Folyat regarded it as the feminine privilege to enjoy entertainment at the expense of the masculine pocket.