"It's not improbable," he said, in his ironical way. "I wish I were
seven years old, with a smudgy face and a perpetual sniff. Who knows!
You might have some pity to spare for me."
Nell laughed with the unconscious heartlessness of the woman who does
not suspect that the man she is laughing at loves her better than life
itself.
"Oh, I hope you will miss us, too," she said. "But you will be freer to
get on with your work. I'm afraid Dick--and I, too!--have often
interrupted you and interfered with your composing. You must set at the
cantata while we are away, and have it finished for us to hear when we
come back. And, Mr. Falconer, you will take care of yourself, won't you?
You are so careless, you know--about going out in the rain and at night
without an umbrella or overcoat. I heard you coughing last night."
"Did you?" he said. "I hope I didn't keep you awake! I kept my head
under the bedclothes as much as I could! Yes, I'll take care, though I
don't think it matters very much."
Nell looked up at him, startled and rather shocked.
"Why do you say that?" she said reproachfully. "Do you think that
Dick--and I--wouldn't be sorry if you were ill?"
"Yes," he said, smiling gravely, "you would be sorry. So you would be if
Tommy got the measles, or the black cat opposite were to slip off the
tiles and break its neck, or Giles came home sober enough one night to
kill his wife. There! I've hurt you! I didn't mean to! It's sheer
cussedness on my part, and I'm an ill-conditioned cur to say a word."
Then suddenly the smile vanished, and his misery showed itself in his
dark eyes. "Ah! can't you see what your going means to me--can't you
see?" He caught his emotion by the throat and checked it. "That--that I
shall miss you--and Dick; that I shan't have any one to come to with my
cantata and my cough. There's Dick calling, and good-by. I--I shall be
out at a music lesson when you start to-morrow."
He held her hand for a moment or two, half raised it slowly, but, with a
wistful smile and a tightening of his lips, let it fall.
He was not out when they drove away next morning, but his door was
closed, and he watched them from behind the ragged curtains drawn
closely over the grimy window. Then, when the cab had rattled away, he
went out on the landing and found Tommy seated on the stairs, bewailing
his desertion, with his two chubby, sooty fists kneading his swollen
eyes.