'Then you won't?'
'I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to yourself.'
'You said you couldn't do anything without me.'
'That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my hat.'
'S'pose I don't?'
'Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.'
Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the pretty things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as respectable as a real lady.
'Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, but it doesn't matter, and I'll think things out. What's the day of the week, Bess?'
'Tuesday.'
'Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool—what a blind fool I have been! Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten
