address that will always find me. And when you write I will answer you."
He took a bit of paper and scribbled an address. Aaron folded it and put it into his waistcoat pocket. It was an Italian address.
"But how can I live in Italy?" he said. "You can shift about. I'm tied to a job."
"You—with your budding rod, your flute—and your charm—you can always do as you like."
"My what?"
"Your flute and your charm."
"What charm?"
"Just your own. Don't pretend you don't know you've got it. I don't really like charm myself; too much of a trick about it. But whether or not, you've got it."
"It's news to me."
"Not it."
"Fact, it is."
"Ha! Somebody will always take a fancy to you. And you can live on that, as well as on anything else."
"Why do you always speak so despisingly?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Have you any right to despise another man?"
"When did it go by rights?"
"No, not with you."
"You answer me like a woman, Aaron."
Again there was a space of silence. And again it was Aaron who at last broke it.
"We're in different positions, you and me," he said.
"How?"
"You can live by your writing—but I've got to have a job."
"Is that all?" said Lilly.
"Ay. And plenty. You've got the advantage of me."
"Quite," said Lilly. "But why? I was a dirty-nosed little boy when you were a clean-nosed little boy. And I always had more patches on my breeches than you: neat patches,
