“No,” said Martin.
“Can you play cricket, golf, ride——?”
“A bicycle,” said Martin.
“That’s something, anyhow. What do you use it for?”
“To go backwards and forwards to my work,” said Martin.
“What do you do in the way of amusement?”
“Nothing,” said Martin, with a sigh.
“My good Fortinbras,” said Corinna, “you have your work cut out for you.”
The waiter brought the drinks, and after enquiring whether they needed all the electricity, turned out most of the lights.
Martin always remembered the scene: the little low-ceilinged room with its grotesque decorations looming fantastic through the semi-darkness; the noises and warm smells rising from the narrow street; the eyes of the girl opposite raised somewhat mockingly to his, as straw in mouth she bent her head over the iced kummel; the burly figure and benevolent face of their queer companion who for five francs had offered to be the arbiter of his destiny, and leaned forward, elbow on table and chin in hand, serenely expectant to hear the inmost secrets of his life.