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Arabian bowed and said formally: "Very glad to meet you." Sir Seymour bowed, and said: "Thanks." "Sit down, my boy!" said Garstin, with sudden heartiness, laying a hand on Arabian's shoulder. "And I know you'll put your lips to a whisky." "Thank you," said Arabian. And he sat down in a deep arm-chair.
It gave her a sense of terrible intimacy with him, as if she were close to the very sources of his being. And yet she knew nothing about him. "It gets dark so early now," he said. Dark! As he said it she thought, "That's his word! That's his word!" Everyone has his word, and dark was Arabian's. "Good-bye!" she said. "I will take you down." Quietly and very naturally, he let her hand go.
To his intense surprise Thomas felt himself lifted by the collar and dragged, without a word of explanation, to the front door. This was opened, and he was kicked forcibly down the steps with one heavy, disillusionizing, humiliating impact of the stupendous Arabian's shoe. As soon as the ex-coachman had recovered his feet and his wits he hastened as fast as he could eastward toward Broadway.
"I shall not quarrel with your means," the Wanderer said quietly, "provided that there is no unnecessary brutality. If I see anything of the kind I will take the matter into my own hands." "Certainly, certainly!" said the other, eyeing with curiosity the man who spoke so confidently of taking out of Keyork Arabian's grasp whatever had once found its way into it.
But it is only just it is only right Keyork Arabian's self is ruined again by Keyork Arabian's vile speeches, which have no more to do with his self than the clouds on earth have with the sun above them! Ruined, ruined lost, this time.
But her reason for remaining in London was not to be found in Arabian's presence there. And she knew that. If she went to Paris she would be separated from Alick Craven. She did not want to be separated from him. And now Dindie Ackroyde's news intensified her reluctance to yield to old Fanny's persuasions and to return to her bronzes.
Garstin had certainly given it to him deliberately. It would be weak not to take advantage of it. He was not accustomed to yield to his weak inclinations, and he resolved not to do so now. He was sure that if he showed the least sign of wishing to push himself into Arabian's affairs the man would recoil at once, in spite of the drink which was slightly, but definitely, clouding his perceptions.
She leaned back in the darkness of the cab, feeling weak and miserable, almost terrified. Surely Fate had her in a tight grip. She remembered Arabian's question: would it be necessary for her to go to America? Her father was very rich. She was his only child. He must certainly have left her a great deal of his money, for his second wife was wealthy and would not need it.
She got up, still wrapped up in shame, and went to the writing-table. She took up a pen to write Arabian's address. But she could not remember the number of the flat. Her memory refused to give it to her. "I can't remember the number," she said, standing by the writing-table. "If you can give me the address of the flats I can easily find out the number."
He said nothing about his pictures, made no further allusion to his wish to paint Arabian's portrait, but flung himself down, lit a cigar, and began to drink and smoke and talk, very much as if he were in the bar of an inn with a lot of good fellows. When he chose Garstin could be human and genial, at times even rowdy.
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