‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. " Bamboo and bead tinkled and slithered behind him. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. . . Her anger died and she eyed him. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness.
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