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He agreed. Then, in
a sudden glow of commercial enthusiasm, he proceeded to hint that
ladies should also be admitted. Regretfully she put her foot down.
Anywhere else the proposal would have been welcome. It was out of the
question on Nepenthe.
"You're forgetting that Wilberforce woman," she said. "She would have
to be carried home every night. It couldn't be done, Freddy. We might
as well shut up the shop at once. People would get talking about the
place--you know how they talk, as it is."
Miss Wilberforce was a pathetic local figure, a lady by birth, with a
ready tongue, wiry limbs, and an insatiable craving for alcohol. She
would unavoidably have damaged the reputation of the place, to say
nothing of its furniture. She had gone from bad to worse lately.
"Perhaps you're right, Lola. It isn't worth while for those few
subscriptions. After all, I'm an Englishman. But how about all those
Russians?" he added.
"I've often told you to let them in, Freddy."
"So you have, dear! It was your idea originally.


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