Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 39).djvu/316

 The young man burst into a roar of laughter.

"Poor old Morrison! I forgot all about him. I lent him my rooms at the Albany. He's writing a novel, and he can't work if the slightest thing goes wrong. It just shows"

"Mr. Bates!"

"Yes?"

"Perhaps you didn't intend to hurt me. I dare say you meant only to be kind. But—but—oh, can't you see how you have humiliated me? You have treated me like a child, giving me a make-believe success just to—just to keep me quiet, I suppose. You"

He was fumbling in his pocket.

"May I read you a letter?" he said.

"A letter?"

"Quite a short one. It is from Epstein, the picture-dealer. This is what he says. 'Sir', meaning me, not 'Dear Bill,' mind you—just 'Sir.' 'I am glad to be able to inform you that I have this morning received an offer of ten guineas for your picture, "Child and Cat." Kindly let me know if I am to dispose of it at this price.'"

"Well?" said Annette, in a small voice.

"I have just been to Epstein's. It seems that the purchaser is a Miss Brown. She gave an address in Bayswater. I called at the address. No Miss Brown lives there, but one of your pupils does. I asked her if she was expecting a parcel from Miss Brown, and she said that she had your letter and quite understood and would take it in when it arrived."

Annette was hiding her face in her hands.

"Go away!" she said, faintly.

Mr. Bates moved a step nearer.

"Do you remember that story of the people on the island who eked out a precarious livelihood by taking in one another's washing?" he asked, casually.

"Go away!" cried Annette.

"I've always thought," he said, "that it must have drawn them very close together—made them feel rather attached to each other. Don't you?"

"Go away!"

"I don't want to go away. I want to stay and hear you say you'll marry me."

"Please go away! I want to think."

She heard him moving towards the door. He stopped, then went on again. The door closed quietly. Presently from the room above came the sound of footsteps—footsteps pacing monotonously to and fro like those of an animal in a cage.

Annette sat listening. There was no break in the footsteps.

Suddenly she got up. In one corner of the room was a long pole used for raising and lowering the window-sash. She took it, and for a moment stood irresolute. Then, with a quick movement, she lifted it and stabbed three times at the ceiling.