Playing became a way of escape. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Both of them. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. ‘Soldier of fortune. That window there….
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