The mechanicalness of his utterance passed, and animation leapt back in him as he recovered from his surprise. The sun was shining and her sequins were iridescent. She was wearing violets. His impression embraced the trifles with a confused sense that they made a delightful whole—the smart, smiling woman in the sunshine, the purple of the flowers, and the warmth of her familiar tones.
"So you come to Victoria every day, and you haven't been to see me!" she said. "When did you leave Paris?"
"I—I've done nothing. Of course you know The World and his Wife is dead, Mrs. Deane-Pitt? When did I leave? Oh, soon after the funeral."
"I trust you've recovered from the bereavement," she laughed. "Are you on anything here?"
"Not yet. Editors are so blind to their own interests."
"Well——!" She put out her hand again, and repeated her number. "When will you come in? I'm nearly always at home about five. Good-bye; I'm going to the Army and Navy, and I shall be late."
Kent continued his way cheerfully. The brief interchange of conventionalities had diverted his thoughts, and his glimpse of this woman who took her debts with a shrug, and had candidly adapted her ideals to her requirements till the former had all gone, acted as a fillip to him. She typified success, of a kind, and in a minute he had seemed to acquire something of her own vigour. It made him happy, also, to observe that the manner of their parting had had no sequel; and, in recalling the mood in which he had walked through the Champs Elysées, he decided that he had been extremely stupid to attach so much importance to it. She was an agreeable woman towards whom his feeling was a friendship that he had once been in danger of exaggerating; he would certainly call upon her at the first opportunity! It was quite possible that she might be able to tell him something useful too.
Before he fulfilled his intention, however, an unlooked-for development occurred. The office of the agent who had endeavoured to find a tenant for him was on the road to the station, and a day or two later the man ran out after him and asked if he was still willing to let No. 64. Kent replied shortly that the opportunity had presented itself too late; but after he passed on he reflected. The house was wanted at once by some Americans who had considered it previously. They now made an offer of three and a half guineas a week for a period of six or twelve months. It appeared to Kent that he had been very idiotic in dismissing the suggestion off-hand. With three and a half guineas a week, less the rent and taxes, he could send Cynthia to the country for a few months, which was exactly what she stood in need of; and though he could not leave London himself, he could shift alone somewhere till he found a berth and she rejoined him.
Cynthia and he discussed the idea lengthily. She was opposed to the separation, but she agreed that it would be very unwise of them to refuse to let the house. She said that they might all live together in apartments on the money; fresh air and peace would be delicious if Kent were with her, but she thought that she would rather stay with him in London than go away by herself.
This point was debated a good deal. There was much against it. It was absurd to deny that their anxieties, and the restraint imposed by her charge of the baby, had told upon her health; in a little village where living was cheap she would not only recover her roses—as soon as he earned a trifle she could have a nursemaid. If they took lodgings together, on the other hand, they must be reconciled to going to a suburb—and a suburb would be twice as expensive as the country. By himself, Humphrey could get a top bedroom in Bloomsbury for the same sum that he now spent on third-class railway tickets.