They starved together heroically, and Nurse Blaber was good enough to signify approval when she came to clear away.
'Nursey?' Miss Henschil insinuated, and flushed.
'Do you smoke?' said the nurse coolly to Conroy.
'I haven't in years. Now you mention it, I think I'd like a cigarette—or something.'
'I used to. D'you think it would keep me quiet?' Miss Henschil said.
'Perhaps. Try these.' The nurse handed them her cigarette-case.
'Don't take anything else,' she commanded, and went away with the tea-basket.
'Good!' grunted Conroy, between mouthfuls of tobacco.
''Better than nothing,' said Miss Henschil; but for a while they felt ashamed, yet with the comfort of children punished together.
'Now,' she whispered, 'who were you when you were a man?'
Conroy told her, and in return she gave him her history. It delighted them both to deal once more in worldly concerns—families, names, places, and dates—with a person of understanding.
She came, she said, of Lancashire folk—wealthy cotton-spinners, who still kept the broadened a and slurred aspirate of the old stock. She lived with an old masterful mother in an opulent world north of Lancaster Gate, where people in Society gave parties at a Mecca called the Langham Hotel.
She herself had been launched into Society there,
