She looked at him incredulously for a moment, then broke into hysterical laughter.
“Money!” she repeated. “Oh, you are too comic for anything!”
CHAPTER VI—MELPOMENE
Two weeks passed and Joyce found himself in Hull. During the previous week Miss Stevens had lodged quite near to the theatre, and there had been no occasion for his escort after the performance. Besides, she had maintained a distant attitude toward him which precluded further offer of sympathy in her affairs. He was sorry for her; she seemed lonely, like himself, and, like himself, to have some inward suffering that made life bitter. He was glad, then, to find at Hull that they lodged in the same street, some distance away from the Theatre Royal, so that he could propose, as a natural thing, the resumption of their former habit. She had acquiesced readily on the Monday night, and they had met as a matter of course on the four succeeding evenings. Her late aloofness was followed by a more intimate and submissive manner. There were no more defiant utterances and fits of petulance. She seemed anxious to atone for past irritability, and Joyce, vaguely remembering a spring-tide cynicism of his, that one must be astonished at nothing in a woman, received these advances kindly, and looked upon their friendly relations as consolidated.
He also found himself progressing in favour with the rest of the company. Several desultory chats with Miss Verrinder, the friend of Yvonne, had not only brightened the dulness of the theatre life, but also given him a little prestige among his colleagues. For there is a good deal of humanity in man, including the chorus of comic opera. So, such as it was, Joyce’s contentment rose to high-level at Hull. He did not couple the town with Hell and Halifax in his litany of supplication, but, on the contrary, found it a not unpleasant place, which, moreover, was in process of undergoing a rare week of sunshine.
His favourite spot was the Corporation Pier, with its double deck and comfortable seats and view across the Humber. His well-worn clothes were in harmony with its frequenters, and he felt more at ease than on the Parade of a seaside resort thronged with well-dressed people. Here he brought his book and pipe, read discursively, watched the shipping, fell into talk with seafaring men, who told him the tonnage of vessels and the ports from which they came. Often a great steamer performing the passenger service across the North Sea would come into the docks close by, and he would go and watch her land her passengers and cargo. The hurry and movement were welcome to him, breaking, as they did, the lethargy of the day. If the docks were quiet, there was always the mild excitement of witnessing the arrival of the Grimsby boat at the pier.
On Saturday morning this last incident had attracted him from his seat on the lower gallery to the little knot of expectant idlers gathered by the railing. The steamer was within a quarter of a mile, the churn of her paddles the only break visible in the sluggish water of the river. He stood leaning over, pipe in mouth, idly watching her draw near. When she was moored alongside and the gangway pushed on to the landing-stage below, he moved with the others to the head of the slope to watch the passengers ascend. Why he should particularly interest himself in the passage of humdrum labourers, fishwives, artisans, and young women come to shop in Hull, he did not know. He watched them, with unspeculating gaze, pass hurrying by, until suddenly a pair of evil eyes looking straight into his own made him start back with a shiver of dismay.
Escape was impossible; in another moment the man was by his side.