"Wish I'd get run over, or save a millionnaire's life. Either'd make a
break."
"Millionnaires only get their lives saved in books," Nell rejoined
bitterly.
He kicked the hat-stand angrily.
"Look here, Nell, I can't go to that beastly bank to-day. I'm sick of
it! I'll be committing suicide, or murder, or something, if I do!"
A quick little sob caught suddenly at her throat.
"Oh, Denis!" she whispered. "Oh, Denis!"
He smoothed out a dent he had made in his hat. He looked up at her, a
humorous smile twisting his mouth.
"Anyhow, I'll be a success as an author soon," he said. "Didn't I say
all this beastly bank business was copy? Well, my books'll be pretty
morbid and sordid, won't they?"
She felt blindly for his coat; it danced before her eyes in a mist. He
began to laugh.
"I say, old fumble-fist, wouldn't old Pom-Pom be rich while I was
murdering him? I can see him--'Excuse me, Mr. O'Brien, but you really
are going to work in an unnecessarily rough manner.'" He dived an arm
into the coat she held out for him. "Nell--think I shall ever want to
bring in a realistic murder into a book? If so, now's the time to get
it."
"You're late. Don't dawdle."
"Bet I'd get to the corner before you even if I gave you the steps in!"
"Not you!"
She flung open the door, jumped the long flight of steps, and vanished.
She came back laughing, flushed, and vanquished, into the disapproving
arms of Miss Kezia.
She listened to the lecture that followed in a passion of dreary revolt.
When it was finished she observed tragically, "Next time I'll put on a
_veil_!"
She went upstairs to Molly and French translation. She set Sheila Pat a
sum to work out. Sheila Pat sat and gazed awhile at the figures, then
she slid down from her chair.
"I won't do it, Nell!" she said.
She stood, a small figure at bay; a little quiver passed through her.
"Very well, asthore," Nell said gently.
The Atom went to the window and looked out. She came back to the table.
"Give me something to do, please, Nell."