Even she has admitted that. She left me most unkindly at a
critical time in my life; she misunderstood things; if I were to
see her, I could explain everything. I feel it very much that
she is living apart from me in this city where we are both
strangers. I am anxious about her, Mr. Tavernake. Does she want
money? If so, will you take her some from me? Can't you suggest
any way in which I could help her? Do be my friend, please, and
advise me."
Life was certainly opening out for Tavernake. The atmosphere by
which he was surrounded, which she was deliberately creating
around him, was the atmosphere of an unknown world. It was a
position, this, entirely novel to him. Nevertheless, he did his
best to cope with it intelligently. He reflected carefully
before he made any reply, he refused absolutely to listen to the
strange voices singing in his ears, and he delivered his decision
with his usual air of finality.
"I am afraid," he said, "that since Beatrice refuses even to let
you know her whereabouts, she would not wish to accept anything
from you. It seems a pity," he went on, the instincts of the
money-saver stirring within him; "she is certainly none too well
off."
The lady on the couch sighed.
"Beatrice has at least a friend," she murmured. "It is a great
deal to have a friend. It is more than I have. We are both so
far from home here. Often I am sorry that we ever left America.
England is not a hospitable country, Mr.
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