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Updated: June 22, 2025
Strangling sobs, blearing tears, bodies buffeted by sickness, hearts and mind callous and hard with the rubs of the world how little love there would be were these things a barrier to love! In that sense he did love Elsie Bengough. What her happiness had never moved in him her sorrow almost awoke.... Suddenly his meditation went.
But it will be all right on the night, as you used to say." "Stuck?" "Rather stuck." "Got any of it you care to read to me?..." Oleron had long been in the habit of reading portions of his work to Miss Bengough occasionally. Her comments were always quick and practical, sometimes directly useful, sometimes indirectly suggestive.
It embodied an allusion that could only be to Elsie Bengough.... A seldom-seen frown had cut deeply into Oleron's brow. So! That was it! Very well; they would see about that on the morrow.... For the rest, this seemed merely another reason why Elsie should keep away.... Then his suppressed rage broke out.... The foul-minded lot!
Elsie Bengough, with whom he had spent weeks and weeks of afternoons she, the good chum, on whose help he would have counted had all the rest of the world failed him she, whose loyalty to him would not, he knew, swerve as long as there was breath in her Elsie to be even in thought dissected thus! He was an ingrate and a cad....
"Making Romilly herself a different type of woman. Somehow, I've begun to feel that I'm not getting the most out of her. As she stands, I've certainly lost interest in her to some extent." "But but " Miss Bengough protested, "you had her so real, so living, Paul!" Oleron smiled faintly. He had been quite prepared for Miss Bengough's disapproval.
When he had finished, he put his spare boots and books and papers into them; and he closed the lids again, amused with his little adventure, but also a little anxious for the hour to come when he should settle fairly down to his work again. It piqued Oleron a little that his friend, Miss Bengough, should dismiss with a glance the place he himself had found so singularly winning.
Nevertheless, there came an occasion on which this woman Bengough absolutely refused to be suppressed. Oleron could not have told exactly when this happened; he only knew by the glimmer of the street lamp on his blind that it was some time during the night, and that for some time she had not presented herself. He had no warning, none, of her coming; she just came was there.
Then he added, with a little burst of candour, "The fact is, Elsie, I've not written not actually written very much more of it any more of it, in fact. But, of course, that doesn't mean I haven't progressed. I've progressed, in one sense, rather alarmingly. I'm now thinking of reconstructing the whole thing." Miss Bengough gave a gasp. "Reconstructing!"
He wouldn't be left, ill, to shift for himself. If everybody else had forsaken him, he could trust Elsie Bengough, the dearest chum he had, for that ... bless her faithful heart! But suddenly a short, stifled, spluttering cry rang sharply out: "Paul!" It came from the kitchen.
"Sorry you catch me like this, Elsie," he said, with a little laugh.... "No, I'll take them out; then we'll go for a walk, if you like...." He carried out the tray, and then began to show Miss Bengough round his flat. She made few comments. In the kitchen she asked what an old faded square of reddish frieze was, that Mrs. Barrett used as a cushion for her wooden chair. "That?
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