“Begin at the beginning and tell me what’s the matter—what this all means.”
“There is no beginning that I know of,” with a shrug that fell far short of the indifferent. “What it means I’ve already told you.”
The hat followed the coat, hanging where it caught on the latter by one pin. “Let’s not dissimulate for the present,” pleaded the girl, “or juggle words. There’s a time for everything.”
“And the present?”
“Don’t, please! As a favor, if you wish. Begin at the beginning.”
“I repeat, there is none to my knowledge. There’s only an end.”
“The end, then,” swiftly; “the reason for it. Don’t you wish to tell me?”
“No, I don’t wish to. I intend to tell you, however. It was all regular, my retirement; no one at fault among the powers that are. I had been warned—and failed to profit. It was very regular.”
“Yes, yes; but the reason! Tell me that.”
“Certainly. I was just coming to it. I failed to materialize at the department two days in succession. I overslept.” 153