“Where does he come from? Who is he?”
“I don’t know, don’t care; nothing to do with me.”
“Just because of his soft eyes, and his wheedling voice, and that half-caressing, half-devotional manner of his. Do you imagine he keeps it specially for you? I gave you credit for more sense.”
“I’m not in love with him, I tell you. He’s down on his luck, and I’m sorry for him, that’s all.”
“And if he is, whose fault was it, do you think?”
“It doesn’t matter. We are none of us saints. He’s trying to pull himself together, and I respect him for it. It’s our duty to be charitable and kind to one another in this world!”
“Oh, well, I’ll tell you how you can be kind to him: by pointing out to him that he is wasting his time. With his talents, now that he knows his business, he could be on the staff of some big paper, earning a good income. Put it nicely to him, but be firm. Insist on his going. That will be showing true kindness to him—and to yourself, too, I’m thinking, my dear.”
And Tommy understood and appreciated the sound good sense underlying Jane’s advice, and the very next day but one, seizing the first opportunity, acted upon it; and all would have gone as contemplated if only Dick Danvers had sat still and listened, as it had been arranged in Tommy’s programme that he should.
“But I don’t want to go,” said Dick.
“But you ought to want to go. Staying here with us you are doing yourself no good.”