“Well, we’re not in the Argentine. We’re in Victoria Street.” No, she would not admit that Frank had only talent.
He laughed and dropped the subject. “I know it well by the roar of the buses. I met a fellow out there who was desperately homesick, and he confided to me that he’d give anything to see the scavengers washing down the street as he drove home from the club, and see the wet pavement shining under the street lamps. How’s Gilbert to-day?”
“He has gone to his chambers.”
“What? Why, he was in bed yesterday.”
“I know.” She shrugged her shoulders under their luxurious furs. “But the only thing that counts with Gilbert is his work, you know. He refuses to stop in bed any longer.” She looked him straight in the face and her eyes were bright and hard. “Tell me something. Did you always know that work is the only real thing in Gilbert’s life? But, of course, you knew. You see most things in your quiet, undemonstrative way.”
They were standing beside the car. The door was open for her to step into it.
For a moment he was nonplussed. What answer could he make to such a question? But while he was groping for some words, she held out her hand with a little amused, cynical laugh.
“Yes. I see you did know. You need not tell a lie. I think you might have warned me. Good-bye.”
She left him standing on the pavement, his grey eyes troubled and anxious.
She leaned back and tried to think of Frank and the difference his love was going to make in her life. She tried to give herself up again to the pleasant feeling of being cared for, of being appreciated. She tried to recapture the thrill his caresses had given her; but she could not. She could only see the troubled grey eyes of Colin Paton.