As they came up to the house with its shabby door, a man well-past middle age,--a flabby, vulgar person, with thick awkward legs,--left it rather quickly and walked in the opposite direction. The two boys went in and Peter led the way up the dark staircase. The door was open and Lily, the colored maid, was holding a shrill argument with a man with a basket full of empty siphons on his arm. Her face broke into an odd and knowing smile when she saw Graham. They passed her without a word and went along the passage into the sitting-room. It was empty, but in a hideous state of disorder. There was about it all that last night look which is so unpleasant and insalubrious. The windows had not been opened and the room reeked with stale tobacco smoke and beer. Cigar stumps lay like dead snails on the carpet. Empty bottles were everywhere and dirty glasses. Through the half-open door which led into the bed-room they heard a flutey, uncertain soprano voice singing a curious foreign song.
After a moment of weakness and indecision, Graham pulled himself together and called out: "Ita! Ita!" sharply.
The song ceased abruptly. There was a cry of well-simulated joy and the girl, with her hair frowzled and a thin dressing-gown over her night-dress, ran into the room with naked feet. She drew up short when she saw the expression on Graham's face and Peter's square shoulders behind him. "Somesing ees ze matter," she said. "Oh, tell me!" Second nature and constant practice made the girl begin to act. This was obviously an opportunity for being dramatic.
With a huge effort Graham controlled himself. "I'm giving up this apartment to-day," he said.
"And what ees to become of me? You take me somewhere else?"
"No. I hope I shall never see you again--never!"
The girl burst forth. How well he knew that piteous gesture--that pleading voice--the tears that came into those large almond eyes,--all those tricks which had made him what he had been called the night before at Papowsky's--"a boob". "What 'ave I done? Do you not love me any more? I love you. I will die for you. You are everysing to me. Do not leave me to ze mercy of ze world. Graham! Graham! My saviour! I love you zo!"
Graham shook her off. "Please don't," he said. "Just pack your things and dress yourself. All I've got to say to you is that I've found you out. Perhaps you'd better go back to Papowsky's. You're very clever,--they all say so there. Find another damned young fool--that'll be easy."