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Updated: May 6, 2025
"I'm not a girl at all, Jack," she said. "I gave up all my pretensions to youth many, many years ago." He nodded, still faintly smiling. "You were about nineteen, weren't you?" "No. I was past twenty-one." A curious note crept into her voice; it sounded as if she were speaking of the dead. "It was just twelve years ago," she said. Babbacombe's eyebrows went up. "What! Are you past thirty?
She bestowed scant attention upon him during dinner, and West presented his most impenetrable demeanour in consequence, refusing steadily to avail himself of Babbacombe's courteous efforts to draw him into the conversation.
"Tell me why," Babbacombe persisted. "Why should I tell you?" said West. Babbacombe hesitated for an instant; then gravely, kindly, he made reply: "For the sake of the friendship that has been between us. I had not the faintest idea that you were in need of money. Why couldn't you tell me?" West made a restless movement. For the first time his hard stare shifted from Babbacombe's face.
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