We fell out a bit over that; but I was living down at the Manor then,
and so it didn't actually come to a split. But when the governor died
and she found that I'd been left the house which was worth no end
to her--socially--and she'd been left the money which really wasn't
worth a damn--sorry--that slipped out"--Sally smiled--"she came
back to me, arms round the neck--head quite low enough to be kissed
then--and did her best to patch the business up. I suppose that
rattled me. I could see the value of it. It was just as empty as all
the rest of her social schemes. I took her at the valuation, told
her she could have the house and I'd take the money, and behaved
generally like a young fool. I was only--what? Only twenty-six then.
And sham seemed to me the most detestable thing on earth. So Apsley
Manor went over to her and I came up to live in London. I don't know
really that I regret it so very much. This life suits me in a way,
though sometimes it's a bit lonely. That's, at any rate, the gist
of the whole business. We see each other sometimes; but her continual
efforts to get me to don the uncomfortable garments of social
respectability make the meetings as uninviting as when you go to be
fitted at a tailor's.
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