Jimmy was alone in his room; his table was covered with books and papers. He was still at his great plan.
Jimmy sat plunged in work, without the least thought of what was happening near him: in fact, he did not even know that Lily was in London. His installation of “Bridging the Abyss” at the Hippodrome had taken him the whole day. There was a scenic effect to contrive with the manager: a “hydrodrama” ... bridging the abyss over a torrent ... with a waterfall behind ... and the whole thing set and framed in a pantomine, which was ready for production, because Jimmy had been expected for a month; in short, it would go of itself.
And under the peaceful light he resumed his compasses, or else flung himself back in his chair, lit a cigarette, followed the smoke with his eyes....
Poor Lily, what was she doing, over there, in Berlin, thought Jimmy. She deserved something better than Trampy, that adorable Lily, to whom he, Jimmy, would gladly have devoted his life ... and whom he felt as it were swelling up inside him ... in his heart ... in his brain ... in spite of himself! That poor Lily! To think that he could do nothing for her, that he almost regretted having done her a service, after the short scene which he had had the day after with Trampy, blinded with jealousy, because he, Jimmy, had visited Lily during his absence; the reproaches which that simple action had earned for him:
“Look here, you righter of wrongs, you who preach to others and go making love to their wives!”
To have put himself in a position that he could be spoken to like that, in a position to have Lily suspected! What a shame! Oh, the worries it would cause her! Yes, he had been imprudent, perhaps: it was all his fault; another man’s wife....
“Oh, you mean cur!” roared Lily.