The delight with which she saw Maddison’s luggage-laden cab turn the corner of the street soon gave way, as she walked homeward, to a sense of inability as to how she could best make use of her new liberty. Pleasure at any cost was her first aim and requirement. In addition to Mortimer she had casually met a few of Maddison’s more Bohemian friends, but she neither desired nor dared approach them. Mortimer was wealthy, but it would be too risky, she counted, to ask him for anything, though anything he cared to offer she was prepared to accept. Then there was “Nosey” Geraldstein, who, Ethel Harding told her, was most anxious to know her, but she did not like him, and she had not yet plumbed that depth of callousness which makes a woman readily render herself to any man who will purchase her material pleasures; she could not yet content herself with the mere prose of lust; she still asked for some remnant of poetry, however ragged. There remained Ethel Harding.
Passing by her own door, she went on up to her friend’s, where her knock was answered by the maid, who said that Mrs. Harding was not yet up. But the door of the bedroom standing ajar, Marian’s inquiry had been heard, and Mrs. Harding called out:
“Come along in, Marian. I’m lazy and having breakfast in bed. Come in.”
Marian went into the stuffy room, which was dimly lighted, the curtain being only half drawn from the window.
“Find a chair, my dear; throw those things on to the floor. My head’s aching like the devil. I had a wild night of it. Have something? I tried a cup of tea, but it tasted like sand and water, so I’m indulging in a B. and S. Have one?”
“No, thanks, I couldn’t!” Marian answered, laughing apologetically.
“Couldn’t? Well, I used to say that once upon a time,” Mrs. Harding replied; then stretching out her shapely, strong arms and yawning desperately: “That’s the worst of taking a bit too much; one feels dead beat, but can’t sleep a twopenny wink; and you dream and toss about, and your mouth and tongue get so dry that they feel as if they were cracking all over. But the first drop in the morning pulls one together a bit. It makes a lot of difference what’s the lotion. Never get squiffy on phiz, my dear, it’s poison. Stick to brandy, it doesn’t hang about so much. So Master George is off to the country and you’ve got a holiday! What are you going to do with it?”
“That’s just what I don’t know. I’m running down to Brighton in a few days, but I don’t want to go to sleep till then. I came up to see if you could suggest anything. Are you free to-night? Couldn’t we go somewhere together?”
“Lots of places if you have any coppers. I’m cleaned out. My old man’s away, I’ve spent all he left me, so I’ll hunt for rhino while you hunt for fun; sometimes you can manage to haul in both, but it’s generally the stupid beasts who have the cash. Never mind, we’ll trust to luck, and if none turns up you shall liquidate the bill. Now I’m going to turn you out; just pull the curtains to, like a dear, and I’ll indulge in some more beauty sleep. I’ll look you up about tea-time, and we can talk over the plan of campaign. Ta-ta!”