Hilda closed the draped door with a mysterious, bitter, cynical smile.
"Sit down," she said coldly.
"Last night," Edwin began, without sitting down, "when you mentioned the
broker's man, were you joking, or did you mean it?"
She was taken aback.
"Did I say `broker's man'?"
"Well," said Edwin, "you've not forgotten, I suppose."
She sat down, with some precision of pose, on the principal sofa.
"Yes," she said at length. "As you're so curious. The landlords are in
possession."
"The bailiffs still here?"
"Yes."
"But what are you going to do?"
"I'm expecting them to take the furniture away to-morrow, or Tuesday at
the latest," she replied.
"And then what?"
"I don't know."
"But haven't you got any money?"
She took a purse from her pocket, and opened it with a show of impartial
curiosity. "Two-and-seven," she said.
"Any servant in the house?"
"What do you think?" she replied. "Didn't you see me cleaning the
door-plate last night? I _do_ like that to look nice at any rate!"
"I don't see much use in that looking nice, when you've got the bailiffs
in, and no servant and no money," Edwin said roughly, and added, still
more roughly: "What should you do if anyone came inquiring for rooms?"
He tried to guess her real mood, but her features would betray nothing.
"I was expecting three old ladies--sisters--next week," she said. "I'd
been hoping I could hold out till they came. They're horrid women,
though they don't know it; but they've stayed a couple of months in this
house every winter for I don't know how many years, and they're firmly
convinced it's the best house in Brighton. They're quite enough to keep
it going by themselves when they're here. But I shall have to write and
tell them not to come this time."
"Yes," said Edwin. "But I keep asking you--what then?"
"And I keep saying I don't know."
"You must have some plans?"
"I haven't." She put her lips together, and dimpled her chin, and again
cynically smiled. At any rate she had not resented his inquisition.
"I suppose you know you're behaving like a perfect fool?" he suggested
angrily. She did not wince.
"And what if I am? What's that got to do with you?" she asked, as if
pleasantly puzzled.
"You'll starve. You can't live for ever on two-and-seven."
"Well?"
"And the boy? Is he going to starve?"
"Oh," said Hilda, "Janet will look after him till something turns up.
The fact is, that's one reason why I allowed her to take him."
"`Something turns up,' `something turns up!'" Edwin repeated
deliberately, letting himself go. "You make me absolutely sick! It's
absolutely incredible how some people will let things slide! What in
the name of God Almighty do you think will turn up?"
"I don't know," she said, with a certain weakness, still trying to be
placidly bitter, and not now succeeding.
"Where is the bailiff-johnny?"
"He's in the kitchen with one of his friends, drinking."
Edwin with bravado flopped his hat down forcefully on a table, pushed a
chair aside, and strode towards the door.
"Where are you going?" she asked in alarm, standing up.
"Where do you suppose I'm going? I'm going to find out from that chap
how much will settle it. If you can't show any common sense for
yourself, other folks must show some for you--that's all. The brokers
in the house! I never heard of such work!"
And indeed, to a respected and successful tradesman, the entrance of the
bailiffs into a house did really seem to be the very depth of disaster
and shame for the people of that house. Edwin could not remember that
he had ever before seen a bailiff. To him a bailiff was like a bug--
something heard of, something known to exist, but something not likely
to enter the field of vision of an honest and circumspect man.
He would deal with the bailiff. He would have a short way with the
bailiff. Secure in the confidence of his bankers, he was ready to bully
the innocent bailiff. He would not reflect, would not pause. He had
heated himself. His steam was up, and he would not let the pressure be
weakened by argumentative hesitations. His emotion was not
disagreeable.
When he was in the passage he heard the sound of a sob. Prudently, he
had not banged the door after him. He stopped, and listened. Was it a
sob? Then he heard another sob. He went back to the drawing-room.
------------------------------------------------------------------------