“Oh, all over the place,” I said.

“And what are you doing?”

“A job of work-when I can get one.”

She said, “Have you got one now?” She has such a soft voice. She was sorry for me. I don’t mind as long as it doesn’t hurt her. She didn’t look at my boots, and at all the rest of my shabbiness, but of course she could see exactly where I’d come to, and her voice wasn’t quite steady. She’s got a soft heart as well as a soft voice.

I told myself just what sort of a cad I should be if I traded on it, and I laughed a little and said,

“I’m on the trail. Wish me good hunting!”

She ought to have taken my cue, wished me good luck, and let me go. Instead, she looked at me with a sort of heavenly hurt look in her eyes.

“Why did you disappear?” Her voice was so soft I could hardly hear what she said.

“My dear,” I said, “ ‘disappear’ sounds like a detective story. I’ve merely been dull and respectable-a little work, a little play, and so on.”

“And no friends?” she asked. Then, before I could answer, “You did disappear. You didn’t give your friends a chance. It wasn’t fair.”

I’d more or less got hold of myself by this time, and this was something I’d got an answer for.

“Look here, Isobel, what do you mean by ‘not fair’?”

“You didn’t give your friends a chance at all.”

“How could they have helped me? Lent me fivers until they began to say to each other, ‘I say, here’s Car-I’m off!’?”

She made a little sharp sound as if I’d hurt her.

“No, of course I didn’t mean that.”