"Oh, dear, no, I've got no work to do," he said, smiling. "That's not a commodity that comes my way. But I must somehow manage to keep a roof over Anita and the child. So what can I do but count on your assistance, my dear? My father left you a great deal of money which in equity belonged to me—and I am bound to remind you of it."
"You know very well why he left you so little!" said Lady Winton. "We needn't go into that old story. I ask you again, what do you want?" She took out her watch. "I have just ten minutes."
"What do I want?" He looked at her with a slow, whimsical laugh. "Money, my dear, money! Money means everything that I must have—food, coals, clothes, doctor, chemist, buses—decent houseroom for Anita and myself—"
A shiver of revulsion ran through his sister.
"Have you married that woman?"
He laughed.
"As you seemed to think it desirable, Anita and I did take a trip to a Registry Office about a month ago. It's all lawful now—except for our abominable English law that doesn't legitimize the children. But"—he sprang to his feet with a movement which startled her—"whom do you think I've seen lately?"
His sister stared at him, amazed at the change in him—the animation, the rush of colour in the hollow, emaciated face.
"Rachel!—my wife—my former—precious—wife. I thought she was in Canada. No doubt she thought the same of me. But I've stumbled upon her quite by chance—living close to the place where I had taken lodgings for Anita and the babe, in September, in case there were more raids this winter. What do you think of that?"
"It doesn't interest me at all," said Lady Winton coldly.