“Better get home, Severance. Come in to-morrow, will you?”
“No. I’m q-quite in earnest about resigning. No further use for the damned j-job now.”
“I never could see why you had any use for it in the first place. Was it money?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You d-don’t see at all. I wanted the m-money for a purpose. The purpose was a woman. I w-wanted to keep pace with her and her s-set. It was the set to which I rightly belonged, but I’d dropped out. I thought I p-preferred drink. I didn’t after she got hold of me. I d-don’t know why the d-devil I’m telling you all this.”
“I’m sorry, Severance,” said Banneker honestly.
The other raised his glass. “Here’s to her,” he said. He drank. “I wish her nothing w-worse than she’s got. Her name is—”
“Wait a moment, Severance,” cut in Banneker sharply. “Don’t say anything that you’ll regret. Naming of names—”
“Oh, there’s no harm in this, n-now,” said Severance wearily. “Hers is smeared in filth all over our third page. It is Maud Territon. What do you think of P-Patriotic journalism, anyway, Banneker?”