MRS. MEDWIN
an "advance" to go on with. Miss Cutter confessed that it seemed at times as if one scarce could go on; but the advance was, in spite of this delicacy, still more delicately made—made in the form of a banknote, several sovereigns, some loose silver and two coppers, the whole contents of her purse, neatly disposed by Mrs. Medwin on one of the tiny tables. It seemed to clear the air for deeper intimacies, the fruit of which was that Mamie, lonely, after all, in her crowd, and always more helpful than helped, eventually brought out that the way Scott had been going on was what seemed momentarily to overshadow her own power to do so.
"I've had a descent from him." But she had to explain. "My half-brother—Scott Homer. A wretch."
"What kind of a wretch?"
"Every kind. I lose sight of him at times—he disappears abroad. But he always turns up again, worse than ever."
"Violent?"
"No."
"Maudlin?"
"No."
"Only unpleasant?"
"No. Rather pleasant. Awfully clever—awfully travelled and easy."
"Then what's the matter with him?"
Mamie mused, hesitated—seemed to see a wide past. "I don't know."
"Something in the background?" Then as her friend was silent, "Something queer about cards?" Mrs. Medwin threw off.
"I don't know—and I don't want to!"
"Ah well, I'm sure I don't," Mrs. Medwin returned with spirit. The note of sharpness was perhaps also a little in the observation she made as she gathered herself to go. "Do you mind my saying something?"
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