With a limp hand he reached for the door as Avery shut it against him. He touched the door in a yielding way as a cat would touch it. The touch was like magic. Avery opened the door again. “Come in, come in. Oh, come in, come in,” he said furiously. As he preceded Edward into the studio he went on saying, “Come in, come in, oh come in....” Poor Edward was coming in as quickly as he could. Dirty cups and plates were all over the studio. The shades were down over all the windows but one. “I detest the sight of you,” said Avery. “You are like a beastly disease in my house. You worried Rhoda till she cried at night. Now she is gone, to cry in another bed.” “I don’t know what you mean.” Avery did not know altogether what he meant. There was to him something hideous and detestable about Edward. Edward had been too much in his sight. Avery was full of Jewish vigour himself; the poorness and the pimples, the thinness and the hesitancy of Edward were revolting to him. “You don’t know what I mean? Didn’t you know that Rhoda would have _paid_ to get you out of this country, out of her sight, out of the sight of all decent people.” Edward did not speak of the suggested commission to take Rhoda’s pictures to China. He knew very well that Avery was right. Rhoda would have paid to get him out of her sight. That was all she had meant. Her pictures, bad, mad, careful pictures, were still on the wall. “Now she has gone,” said Avery. “She has forgotten me—she has worse than forgotten you.” “Gone ... forgotten?” Edward thought. He could not connect violent words with the serene and reasonable Rhoda. He could not imagine her sturdy neat face distorted by fury or hysteria. Avery said, “What do you want? Are you begging for her money again?” “Yes,” said Edward. He sank down into a mire of disgust. He was feeling sick. Avery snatched at a wallet on the table. He threw all the papers from it to the floor and there was a roll of money clinging to the brim of the wallet. “Take it, take it, take it, take it!” he shouted, slamming down one fifty dollar bill after another among the reeling cups on the table. “Oh, take it, take it, take it!...” Edward was taking it as quickly as he could. “And for Christ’s sake get off this side of the world,” added Avery. “You ... gopher.” Edward backed a few paces towards the door. Avery laughed. His face was twitching; his eyes were burning red. He looked very ugly and almost childish and Edward, as he realised this, felt braver. He stood with his back to the door. He knew very well that when he had disappeared, Avery would put his head down among the unwashed cups. Why, the man was already crying. “You have been exceedingly rude to me,” said Edward. He thought, “Our Hero threw one contemptuous glance back into the room as he left.” Edward went out. As he closed the door he could hear the cups clash. CHAPTER SIX