"Let's sit down! Am I all right?" He thought he had never seen her look so charming or so young. "You have a colour," he said. "A proof it's natural; when we went out I was as pale as a ghost! I work too hard, I do--what are you smiling at?--I work horribly hard. Life's so dear--yes, 'expensive'--don't say it, it would be unworthy of you. And I can't do a fifth part of what's offered me, with all my fag." "Am I supposed to sympathise with you for that?" "Certainly you should sympathise; what de you suppose I tell you for--to be felicitated? Do you think it's agreeable to have to refuse work when one needs the money it would bring in? The trials of Tantalus were a joke to it. I had to let a twenty-thousand-word story for _The Metropolis_ slide only the other day, and I could place half a dozen shorter stories every week if I'd the time to write them." "You do write a great many," said Kent, "and you seem fairly comfortable." "'Wise judges are we of each other!' You ought to see my bills; that music-stand over there is full of them! That's the place I always keep them in--I'm naturally tidy, it's one of my virtues. I had to turn out Chopin's Mazurkas yesterday to make room for some more. I only came to Paris because people don't write you so many abusive letters when they have to pay two-pence-halfpenny postage. Oh, I'm comfortable enough in a fashion, but I've my worries like my neighbours. I suppose I'm extravagant, but I can't help it. Besides, I'm not! Do you think I'm extravagant?" He looked at her, and nodded, smiling. "No," she said, "not really? Why?" "Heavens! you haven't the illusion that you're economical? I believe you spend a small fortune on cabs alone." "I don't spend a solitary franc on one when I'm _not_ alone." "You never walk, so far as I can ascertain----" "No; not so far as that, but I toddle a bit." "Your champagne is above criticism, and you dress like--like an angel. The simile is bad----" "And improper. Go on; what other faults have I? I like to know my friends' opinion of me." "'If to her share some human errors fall----'" he murmured. "Don't look, then! Shall I hide it behind my table-napkin? That's sheer cowardice. Fill your glass, and mine, please. Go on; tell me how I strike you frankly! I know; you think I don't approach literature reverently enough and ought to devote twelve months to a book, and let my poor little children go barefoot in the meanwhile? Well, I did give twelve months to a book once; but I had a husband when I wrote _Two and a Passion_, and he provided the shoes. Now, if I didn't work as I do, I should have to live at Battersea, and buy my clothes at Brixton, and take my holidays at Southend. You wouldn't calmly condemn me to Southend? My income, apart from what I make, barely pays my rent." "Your rent is somewhat heavy," suggested Kent, "with two flats going at once."