She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” “I have been thinking while you have been talking. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. “She must be warned. Every afternoon, from now on, I will teach you a little about life—I mean the worldly points of view you're likely to meet. But sadly, at Lullingstone we are too far off the coast to be of use. And I think I will indeed blow off your imbecile head. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish.
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