He smoked his cigarette, which was in an amber
mouthpiece, and seemed to enjoy its flavour. Reardon found
himself observing the perfection of the young man's boots and
trousers.
'That depends entirely on my wife herself;' he replied
mechanically.
'How so?'
'I offer her the best home I can.'
Reardon felt himself a poor, pitiful creature, and hated the
well-dressed man who made him feel so.
'But really, Reardon,' began the other, uncrossing and recrossing
his legs, 'do you tell me in seriousness that you expect Amy to
live in such lodgings as you can afford on a pound a week?'
'I don't. I said that I had offered her the best home I could. I
know it's impossible, of course.'
Either he must speak thus, or break into senseless wrath. It was
hard to hold back the angry words that were on his lips, but he
succeeded, and he was glad he had done so.
'Then it doesn't depend on Amy,' said John.
'I suppose not.'
'You see no reason, then, why she shouldn't live as at present
for an indefinite time?'
To John, whose perspicacity was not remarkable, Reardon's changed
tone conveyed simply an impression of bland impudence.
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