‘I’ll, you mean, don’t you, darling?’ Jane interpolated.

Clare, who did, but did not know it, only said, ’David’s got a tremendous admiration for it.  He says it will last.’

‘Oh, bother the paternal press,’ Jane said.  ’Give it a rest, old thing.  It may be new to David, but it’s stale to us.  It’s Arthur’s turn to talk about his father’s bank or something.’

But Arthur didn’t talk.  He only made bread pills, and the girls got on to the newest dance.

3

Clare went away after dinner.  She never stayed long when Gideon was there.  David didn’t like Gideon, rightly thinking him a Sheeney.

‘Sheeneys are at the bottom of Bolshevism, you know,’ he told Clare.  ’At the top too, for that matter.  Dreadful fellows; quite dreadful.  Why the dickens do you let Jane marry him?’

Clare shrugged her shoulders.

’Jane does what she likes.  Dad and mother have begged and prayed her not to....  Besides, of course, even if he was all right, it’s too soon....’

’Too soon?  Ah, yes, of course.  Poor Hobart, you mean.  Quite.  Much too soon....  A dreadful business, that.  I don’t blame her for trying to put it behind her, out of sight.  But with a Sheeney.  Well, chacun a son gout.’ For David was tolerant, a live and let live man.

When Clare was gone, Jane said, ’Wake up, old man.  You can talk now....  You and Clare are stupid about each other, by the way.  You’ll have to get over it some time.  You’re ill-mannered and she’s a silly fool; but ill-mannered people and silly fools can rub along together, all right, if they try.’

‘I don’t mind Clare,’ said Gideon, rousing himself.  ’I wasn’t thinking about her, to say the truth.  I was thinking about something else....  I’m chucking the Fact, Jane.’

‘How d’you mean, chucking the Fact’ Jane lit a cigarette.

‘What I say.  I’ve resigned my job on it.  I’m sick of it.’

’Oh, sick....  Every one’s sick of work, naturally.  It’s what work is for....  Well, what are you doing next?  Have you been offered a better job?’

’I’ve not been offered a job of any sort.  And I shouldn’t take it if I were—­not at present.  I’m sick of journalism.’

Jane took it calmly, lying back among the sofa cushions and smoking.

’I was afraid you were working up to this....  Of course, if you chuck the Fact you take away its last chance.  It’ll do a nose-dive now.’

’It’s doing it anyhow.  I can’t stop it.  But I’m jolly well not going to nose-dive with it.  I’m clearing out.’

’You’re giving up the fight, then.  Caving in.  Putting your hands up to Potterism.’

She was taunting him, in her cool, unmoved, leisurely tones.