"It was clever of you to do this," he said; "damn clever. I was hungry, I don't mind confessing ... but that's the last of it. Do you hear? I can look after myself. I know. You're feeling sorry for me. Think I'm in a dirty room with no one to look after me. Think I'm ill. I bet Amy told you I was ill. 'Oh, poor fellow,' you thought, 'I must go and look after him.' Well, I'm not a poor fellow and I don't want looking after. I can manage for myself very nicely. And I don't want any women hanging round. I'm sick of women, and that's flat."
"I'm not pretending it's not all my own fault. It is. ALL my own fault, but I don't want any one coming round and saying so. AND I don't want any pity. You've had a nice romantic idea in your head, saving the sinner and all the rest of it. Well, you can get back to your parson. He's the sort for that kind of stuff."
"Indeed I haven't," said Maggie. "I don't care whether you're a sinner or not. You're being too serious about it all, Martin. We were old friends. When I heard you were in London I came to see you. That's all. I may as well stay here as anywhere else. Aunt Anne's dead and—and—Uncle Mathew too. There's nowhere else for me to go. I don't pity you. Why should I? You think too much about yourself, Martin. It wasn't to be clever that I got these things. I was hungry, and I didn't want to eat in an A.B.C. shop."
"Oh, I don't know," he said, turning away from the table.
He stood up, fumbling in his pocket. He produced a pipe and some tobacco out of a paper packet. As he filled it she saw that his hand was trembling.
He turned finally upon her.
"Whatever your plan was it's failed," he said. "I'm going to bed straight away now. And to-morrow morning early I'm off. Thank you for the meal and—good-night and good-bye."
He gave her one straight look. She looked up at him, calmly. He dropped his eyes; then, clumsily he walked off, opened his bedroom door, closed it behind him, and was gone.
She sat there, staring in front of her, thinking. What was she to do now? At least she might clear up. She had nowhere to wash the things. She would put them ready for the morning. She tidied the table, put the plates and cups together, then, overcome by a sudden exhaustion, she sat down on the sofa.
She realised then the fight that the day had been. Yes, a fight! ... and she was still only at the beginning of it. If he really went away in the morning what could she do? She could not follow him all round London. But she would not despair yet. No, she was far from despair. But she was tired, tired to death.