'Eh, but it's a grand day! I'd give something for a walk on Ilkley Moors.'
As the best substitute within our reach we agreed to walk across Regent's
Park together. Pomfret's business took him in that direction, and I was
glad of a talk about Christopherson. I learnt that the old book-lover's
landlady was Pomfret's aunt. Christopherson's story of affluence and ruin
was quite true. Ruin complete, for at the age of forty he had been obliged
to earn his living as a clerk or something of the kind. About five years
later came his second marriage.
'You know Mrs. Christopherson?' asked Pomfret.
'No! I wish I did. Why?'
'Because she's the sort of woman it does you good to know, that's all.
She's a lady--_my_ idea of a lady. Christopherson's a gentleman too,
there's no denying it; if he wasn't, I think I should have punched his head
before now. Oh, I know 'em well! why, I lived in the house there with 'em
for several years. She's a lady to the end of her little finger, and how
her husband can 'a borne to see her living the life she has, it's more than
I can understand. By--! I'd have turned burglar, if I could 'a found no
other way of keeping her in comfort.'
'She works for her living, then?'
'Ay, and for his too.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161