Mr. Treffry's gaze was fixed on a tortoise-shell butterfly fluttering round the ceiling. The insect seemed to fascinate him, as things which move quickly always fascinate the helpless. Christian came softly in.
“Couldn't stay in bed, Chris,” he called out with an air of guilt. “The heat was something awful. The doctor piped off in a huff, just because o' this.” He motioned towards a jug of claret-cup and a pipe on the table by his elbow. “I was only looking at 'em.”
Christian, sitting down beside him, took up a fan.
“If I could get out of this heat—” he said, and closed his eyes.
'I must tell him,' she thought; 'I can't slink away.'
“Pour me out some of that stuff, Chris.”
She reached for the jug. Yes! She must tell him! Her heart sank.
Mr. Treffry took a lengthy draught. “Broken my promise; don't matter—won't hurt any one but me.” He took up the pipe and pressed tobacco into it. “I've been lying here with this pain going right through me, and never a smoke! D'you tell me anything the parsons say can do me half the good of this pipe?” He leaned back, steeped in a luxury of satisfaction. He went on, pursuing a private train of thought: “Things have changed a lot since my young days. When I was a youngster, a young fellow had to look out for peck and perch—he put the future in his pocket. He did well or not, according as he had stuff in him. Now he's not content with that, it seems—trades on his own opinion of himself; thinks he is what he says he's going to be.”
“You are unjust,” said Christian.
Mr. Treffry grunted. “Ah, well! I like to know where I am. If I lend money to a man, I like to know whether he's going to pay it back; I may not care whether he does or not, but I like to know. The same with other things. I don't care what a man has—though, mind you, Chris, it's not a bad rule that measures men by the balance at their banks; but when it comes to marriage, there's a very simple rule, What's not enough for one is not enough for two. You can't talk black white, or bread into your mouth. I don't care to speak about myself, as you know, Chris, but I tell you this—when I came to London I wanted to marry—I hadn't any money, and I had to want. When I had the money—but that's neither here nor there!” He frowned, fingering his pipe.