Mr. Treffry's gaze was fixed on a tortoise-shell butterfly fluttering
round the ceiling. The insect seemed to fascinate him, as things which
move quickly always fascinate the helpless. Christian came softly in.
“Couldn't stay in bed, Chris,” he called out with an air of guilt. “The
heat was something awful. The doctor piped off in a huff, just because
o' this.” He motioned towards a jug of claret-cup and a pipe on the
table by his elbow. “I was only looking at 'em.”
Christian, sitting down beside him, took up a fan.
“If I could get out of this heat—” he said, and closed his eyes.
'I must tell him,' she thought; 'I can't slink away.'
“Pour me out some of that stuff, Chris.”
She reached for the jug. Yes! She must tell him! Her heart sank.
Mr. Treffry took a lengthy draught. “Broken my promise; don't
matter—won't hurt any one but me.” He took up the pipe and pressed
tobacco into it. “I've been lying here with this pain going right
through me, and never a smoke! D'you tell me anything the parsons say
can do me half the good of this pipe?” He leaned back, steeped in a
luxury of satisfaction. He went on, pursuing a private train of thought:
“Things have changed a lot since my young days. When I was a youngster,
a young fellow had to look out for peck and perch—he put the future in
his pocket. He did well or not, according as he had stuff in him.
Now he's not content with that, it seems—trades on his own opinion of
himself; thinks he is what he says he's going to be.”
“You are unjust,” said Christian.
Mr. Treffry grunted. “Ah, well! I like to know where I am. If I lend
money to a man, I like to know whether he's going to pay it back; I may
not care whether he does or not, but I like to know. The same with other
things. I don't care what a man has—though, mind you, Chris, it's not
a bad rule that measures men by the balance at their banks; but when it
comes to marriage, there's a very simple rule, What's not enough for one
is not enough for two. You can't talk black white, or bread into your
mouth. I don't care to speak about myself, as you know, Chris, but
I tell you this—when I came to London I wanted to marry—I hadn't any
money, and I had to want. When I had the money—but that's neither here
nor there!” He frowned, fingering his pipe.
“I didn't ask her, Chris; I didn't think it the square thing; it seems
that's out of fashion!”
Christian's cheeks were burning.
“I think a lot while I lie here,” Mr. Treffry went on; “nothing much
else to do. What I ask myself is this: What do you know about what's
best for you? What do you know of life? Take it or leave it, life's
not all you think; it's give and get all the way, a fair start is
everything.”