She did not keep him long waiting. He relieved her of a bulky parcel she was carrying, and, holding it under his arm, walked gravely by her side.
“I thought you said you were n’t an amateur,” she said suddenly.
“Neither am I. It’s my livelihood.”
“Oh, yes—between you and starvation, I suppose.”
“Just so,” said Joyce.
“Could n’t you do anything else?”
“I can’t get anything else to do.”
“Then how did you manage to come down in the world?”
“How do you know I have come down?” asked Joyce, amused at the catechism.
“Can’t I see you were up once? Miss Verrinder would n’t have talked to you like that if you had n’t belonged to her set. And I have heard of Yvonne Latour. She does n’t make friends with the likes of McKay and me and the rest of us. So you’re either an amateur come for the practice or the fun of the thing, or—”