Місяць і гріш

Chapter XI

           CharlesStricklandstoodbeforeme.Heutterednotaword.Heevidentlydidnotknowme.

           Itoldhimmyname.Itriedmybesttoassumeanairymanner.

           "Youdon’trememberme.IhadthepleasureofdiningwithyoulastJuly."

           "Comein,"hesaidcheerily."I’mdelightedtoseeyou.Takeapew."

           Ientered.Itwasaverysmallroom,overcrowdedwithfurnitureofthestylewhichtheFrenchknowasLouisPhilippe.Therewasalargewoodenbedsteadonwhichwasabillowingredeiderdown,andtherewasalargewardrobe,aroundtable,averysmallwashstand,andtwostuffedchairscoveredwithredrep.Everythingwasdirtyandshabby.TherewasnosignoftheabandonedluxurythatColonelMacAndrewhadsoconfidentlydescribed.Stricklandthrewonthefloortheclothesthatburdenedoneofthechairs,andIsatdownonit.

           "WhatcanIdoforyou?"heasked.

           InthatsmallroomheseemedevenbiggerthanIrememberedhim.HeworeanoldNorfolkjacket,andhehadnotshavedforseveraldays.WhenlastIsawhimhewasspruceenough,buthelookedillatease:now,untidyandill-kempt,helookedperfectlyathome.IdidnotknowhowhewouldtaketheremarkIhadprepared.

           "I’vecometoseeyouonbehalfofyourwife."

           "Iwasjustgoingouttohaveadrinkbeforedinner.You’dbettercometoo.Doyoulikeabsinthe?"

           "Icandrinkit."

           "Comeon,then."

           Heputonabowlerhatmuchinneedofbrushing.

           "Wemightdinetogether.Youowemeadinner,youknow."

           "Certainly.Areyoualone?"

           IflatteredmyselfthatIhadgotinthatimportantquestionverynaturally.

           "Ohyes

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