“Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. “Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad.
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