Your thoughts were fine; they showed
you to be a poet; but I have never hidden from you how I wished that
you had been on my side. Art, nowadays, must be the mouthpiece of
misery, for misery is the key-note of modern life."
They talked on, and Julian, so easily moulded by a strong will,
became half courageous.
"One of her reproaches," he said, "is just; I can't meet it. If I
object to her present companions it is my duty to find her more
suitable ones. She lives too much alone. No doubt it is every
husband's duty to provide his wife with society. But how am I to
find it? I am so isolated, and always have been. I know not a soul
who could be a friend to her."
Waymark grew thoughtful, and kept silent.
"One person I know," he said presently, and in a cautious way, "who
might perhaps help you."
"You do?" cried Julian eagerly.
"You know that I make all sorts of queer acquaintances in my
wanderings. Well, I happen to know a girl of about your wife's age,
who, if she were willing, would be just the person you want. She is
quite alone, parentless, and almost without friends. She lives by
herself, and supports herself by working in a laundry. For all this,
she is by no means the ordinary London work-girl; you can't call her
educated, but she speaks purely, and has a remarkably good
intelligence.
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