Poor devil! He was not in a position to forget anyone who owed him money. The nurse went, having swallowed up six guineas. The doctor’s bill came in soon after Eve had moved downstairs to her sitting-room. It amounted to about three pounds, and Eve paid it by cheque. Another weekly bill from Mrs. Buss confronted her, running the doctor’s account to a close finish. Eve realised, after scribbling a few figures, that she was left with about four pounds to her credit. She was astonished at her own apathy. This horror that would have sent a chill through her a month ago, now filled her with a kind of languid and cynical amusement. The inertia of her illness was still upon her, dulling the more sensitive edge of her consciousness. A week after she had come downstairs she went out for her first walk. It was not altogether a wise proceeding, especially when its psychological effects showed themselves. She walked as far as Highbury Corner, felt the outermost ripples of the London mill-pond, and promptly awoke. That night she had a relapse and was feverish, but it was no longer a restful, drowsy fever, but a burning and anxious torment. Life, the struggling, fitful, mean, contriving life was back in her blood, with all its dreads intensified and exaggerated. She felt the need of desperate endeavour, and was unable to stir in her own cause. It was like a dream in which some horror approaches, and one is unable to run away. She was another week in bed, but she did not send for the doctor. And at the end of the week she met Mrs. Buss’s last bill. It left her with three shillings and fourpence in cash. In seven days she would be in debt to her landlady, to the red-faced, grumbling woman whose insolent dissatisfaction was already showing itself. Well, how was she to get the money? What was she to do? There was the sign of the Three Balls. She had a few rings and trinkets and her mother’s jewellery, such as it was. Also, she could dispose of the studio. Lastly, there was John Parfit—John Parfit, who was still sending her flowers. She had had a note from him. He wanted to be allowed to come and see her. * * * * * CHAPTER XXXI THE BOURGEOIS PLAYS THE GENTLEMAN The Saturday on which John Parfit came to see Eve was one of those premature spring days that makes one listen for the singing of birds. The little front garden was full of sunlight, and a few crocuses streaked the brown earth under the window. The Bourgeois arrived with a great bunch of daffodils, their succulent stems wrapped in blue tissue paper. “Well, how are you now? How are you? Brought you a few flowers!”