Well, how was she to get the money? What was she to do?
There was the sign of the Three Balls. She had a few rings and trinkets and her mother’s jewellery, such as it was. Also, she could dispose of the studio.
Lastly, there was John Parfit—John Parfit, who was still sending her flowers. She had had a note from him. He wanted to be allowed to come and see her.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE BOURGEOIS PLAYS THE GENTLEMAN
The Saturday on which John Parfit came to see Eve was one of those premature spring days that makes one listen for the singing of birds. The little front garden was full of sunlight, and a few crocuses streaked the brown earth under the window. The Bourgeois arrived with a great bunch of daffodils, their succulent stems wrapped in blue tissue paper.
“Well, how are you now? How are you? Brought you a few flowers!”
He was shy with the shyness of a big, good-natured creature who was slow to adapt himself to strange surroundings. A feminine atmosphere had always rendered John Parfit nervous and inarticulate. He could talk like a politician in an office or a railway carriage, but thrust him into a drawing-room with a few women, and he became voiceless and futile.
“Well, how are we?”