XI.
When she had descended into the street with Sherringham Miriam informed him that she was thirsty, dying to drink something: upon which he asked her if she would have any objection to going with him to a cafe.
"Objection? I have spent my life in cafes!" she exclaimed. "They are warm in winter and they are full of gaslight. Mamma and I have sat in them for hours, many a time, with a consommation of three sous, to save fire and candles at home. We have lived in places we couldn't sit in, if you want to know—where there was only really room if we were in bed. Mamma's money is sent out from England, and sometimes it didn't come. Once it didn't come for months—for months and months. I don't know how we lived. There wasn't any to come; there wasn't any to get home. That isn't amusing when you're away, in a foreign town, without any friends. Mamma used to borrow, but people wouldn't always lend. You needn't be afraid—she won't borrow from you. We are rather better now. Something has been done in England; I don't understand what. It's only fivepence a year, but it has been settled; it comes regularly; it used to come only when we had written and begged and waited. But it made no difference; mamma was always up to her ears in books. They served her for food and drink. When she had nothing to eat she began
