The
two men sat down in a little enclosed partition. The yellow-haired
young lady leaned across the counter with the air of one willing for
conversation.
"Such queer things as I've heard about you, Mr. Waddington," she began.
"My! the way people have been talking!"
"That so?" Mr. Waddington muttered. "Wish they'd mind their own
business."
"That's too much to expect from folks nowadays," the young lady
continued. "Why, there were some saying as you'd come into a fortune
and spent all your time in the west-end, some that you'd turned
religious, and others that you'd gone a bit dotty. I must say you're
looking somehow different, you and Mr. Burton too. It's quite like old
times, though, to see you sitting there together. You used to come in
after every sale and sit just where you're sitting now and go through
the papers. How's the business?"
"Very good," Mr. Waddington admitted. "How have you been getting
along, eh?"
The young lady sighed. She rolled her eyes at Mr. Waddington in a
manner which was meant to be languishing.
"Very badly indeed," she declared, "thanks to you, you neglectful,
ungrateful person! I've heard of fickle men before but I've never met
one to come up to one that I could name.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207