"It's hardly a divorce," he said, laughing. "I think it's separation by mutual consent."
"That's a pity," said she, "life is so lovable."
"I don't always find it either lovable or loving. But then it's life in a fifth-rate boarding-house in Bloomsbury—if you know what that is."
She did not know what that was, and her silence suggested that she conceived it to be something too unpleasant to discuss with him.
"I work eight hours a day in my father's shop—"
"And when your work is done?"
"I go back to the boarding-house and dine."
"And after dinner?"
Mr. Rickman became visibly embarrassed. "Oh, after dinner, there are the streets, and the theatres, and—and things."
"Nothing else?"