"Mr. Quarle—you know I didn't mean that at all," faltered Bessie. "You're the unkindest man I've ever met."
"Sorry you think so," said Quarle, turning upon her frowningly. "But you needn't stop and bully me; if you remembered your duties properly you'd know that this new lodger by this time probably requires some attention. Go away and look after him; personally, I'm disappointed in you."
"Oh, no, you're not," she coaxed, putting her arms about his neck. "You always growl at me, I think, when you love me the most."
"Perhaps I do," he snapped, thrusting her away from him. "But go and attend to the new lodger."
She climbed the stairs wearily, thinking a little of what Simon Quarle had said—wondering why it happened that life must be always a grey and profitless thing to some, and not to others. She knocked softly at the door, and heard a shout from within, commanding her to enter; caught her breath for a moment, and passed her hand across her eyes, as though she felt that she might still be dreaming. Then, as the shout was renewed, she opened the door, and went slowly in.
The stars had come out even over Arcadia Street, to help the lamps a little; and still the two sat at the window of that room, looking out into an Arcadia Street that was strangely beautified. So much there was for them to say to each other—so much that had never been said before by any man or woman in all the great world—or so at least they thought. Only once, smiling through her tears, Bessie drew away from him, and looked at him for a moment with the old perplexed frown.
"If you should be cheating me again!" she whispered. "If, instead of this poor room for your home, you should really be rich, and should be trying to steal me out of my poverty by a trick! For the love of God, don't do that again; be fair to me—be just to me!"
"My darling, that particular game of make-believe ended a long time ago," he said—"but a new one begins from to-night. We shall have to work hard, you and I, to keep the wolf from the door; and we shall have to make-believe hard to show that we like it."
"That won't be any make-believe for me, dear," she whispered.