Part 28 (2/2)
”I don't understand.”
”I'll explain. I have postponed my marriage for the same reason that I refused you a clean cup--because I cannot afford luxuries.”
”It may be my dulness; but, still, I don't follow you. What exactly are you driving at?”
”I'm done for. I'm on the rocks. I'm a pauper.”
”A what?”
”A pauper.”
I laughed. The man was splendid. There was no other word for it.
”And shall I tell you something else that you are?” I said. ”You are a low, sneaking liar. You are playing it low down on Eva.”
He laughed this time. It irritated me unspeakably.
”Don't try to work off the hollow, mirthless laugh dodge on me,” I said, ”because it won't do. You're a blackguard, and you know it.”
”I tell you I'm done for. I've barely a penny in the world.”
”Rot!” I said. ”Don't try that on me. You've let Eva down plop, and I'm jolly glad; but all the same you're a skunk. Nothing can alter that.
Why don't you marry the girl?”
”I can't,” he said. ”It would be too dishonourable.”
”Dishonourable?”
”Yes. I haven't got enough money. I couldn't ask her to share my poverty with me. I love her too dearly.”
I was nearly sick. The beast spoke in a sort of hushed, soft-music voice as if he were the self-sacrificing hero in a melodrama. The stained-gla.s.s expression on his face made me feel homicidal.
”Oh, drop it,” I said. ”Poverty! Good Lord! Isn't two thousand a year enough to start on?”
”But I haven't got two thousand a year.”
”Oh, I don't pretend to give the figures to a s.h.i.+lling.”
”You don't understand. All I have to live on is my holiday work at the _Orb_.”
”What!”
”Oh, yes; and I'm doing some lyrics for Briggs for the second edition of _The Belle of Wells_. That'll keep me going for a bit, but it's absolutely out of the question to think of marrying anyone. If I can keep my own head above water till the next vacancy occurs at the _Orb_ I shall be lucky.”
”You're mad.”
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