At most of the places, you've got to
put up with it or go outside. Here, old Gustav never permits it."
Joan was troubled. She was rather looking forward to occasional
restaurant dinners, where she would be able to study London's Bohemia.
"You mean," she asked, "that they force themselves upon you, even if you
make it plain--"
"Oh, the plainer you make it that you don't want them, the more sport
they think it," interrupted the girl with a laugh.
Joan hoped she was exaggerating. "I must try and select a table where
there is some good-natured girl to keep me in countenance," she said with
a smile.
"Yes, I was glad to see you," answered the girl. "It's hateful, dining
by oneself. Are you living alone?"
"Yes," answered Joan. "I'm a journalist."
"I thought you were something," answered the girl. "I'm an artist. Or,
rather, was," she added after a pause.
"Why did you give it up?" asked Joan.
"Oh, I haven't given it up, not entirely," the girl answered. "I can
always get a couple of sovereigns for a sketch, if I want it, from one or
another of the frame-makers.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103