He strode out of the house, and passed the Marble Arch, deep in thought. He was beginning to pity himself for being engaged to such a beautiful and gifted girl; for, were she unattractive and dull, she would be easier to manage--they would have been married long ago. He resented, also, the influence which Lady Marjorie evidently possessed over her, and determined that after the wedding he would treat her with coolness, and try to make Celia do the same. It never occurred to him to be glad that Celia should have such a good friend: instead of that, he was mean-spirited enough to find at the bottom of Lady Marjorie’s friendship a motive of self-interest; he knew that Herbert Karne would not allow his sister to partake of her chaperone’s hospitality without making some adequate return. As he turned into Edgware Road, David became aware that somebody was walking alongside him, and, looking up, he recognized, with disagreeable surprise, Myer Apfelbaum, a man whose acquaintance he tolerated only because he owed him money. Apfelbaum carried on business in the city as a wholesale furrier, and had become rich by sweating his workpeople. He loved his business, especially when opportunity occurred for him to get the better of any one; he loved to boast about it, too. David did not care to be seen walking with him--he never looked presentable except on Sabbaths and holy-days,--but he was compelled to put up with his society, and listen to an account of the stock he had sold for the last week, and the bargains he had made. When Myer Apfelbaum was not threatening to send him a writ--which happened about three times a week--he was very friendly indeed. “If any one t’inks they can swindle Myer Apfelbaum, they are moch mistaken,” he wound up by saying. “Why, only last Friday, just before _Shabbos_[11] came in, I sold a man a hundert pounds’ verth of stock, blind, and he had the cheek to say----” “Excuse me, this is my turning; I must go,” interrupted David, impolitely. They had arrived at the corner of Hall Road. “Oh yes, you live up here somewheres, don’t you? You’re a young swell, you are.” He chuckled as if the thought amused him, and continued in a wheedling tone, “Ain’t it about time you paid me the _geld_[12] you owe me? Two hundert pound, and twenty-five pound interest; it’s been going on a long time now. I can’t afford to lose two hundert and twenty-five pound. Better give me five pound now on account.” David glanced at him in contempt. “I am not in the habit of discussing my business affairs in the street,” he answered shortly. “You shall have every farthing of it if you will have a little more patience; if you press for it now, you won’t get anything at all. It will be to your own interest to wait two or three months longer; I am going to be married soon.”