Don't give her a light. But I'm sure you smoke. I'll get you a
cigar."
She pinched Aileen, glared at Sibyl, and left the room.
II
Mortimer was smoking furiously, trying to concentrate his mind on the
evening paper.
"Give me a cigar, Morty dear."
"A cigar? What for?"
"It would be too mean of those girls to smoke unless Mr. Kirkpatrick did
too, and I am sure we couldn't stand his tobacco. Even a whiff of bad
tobacco makes me feel quite ill."
"I'll be hanged if I give my cigars to that bounder. The kitchen is the
place for him."
"But not for us. And our minds are quite made up, you know. We are going
to study with him just to find out what these strange animals called
socialists are like. He is queer enough, to begin, with. And the knowledge
may prove useful one of these days....If you won't give me one I'll send
James out--"
Mortimer handed over one of his choice cigars with ill grace, and Alexina
returned to the library. Aileen was informing Mr. Kirkpatrick how intensely
she disliked Marx's beard, not only as she had seen it in a photograph, but
as she had smelt it in Spargo's too vivid description.
He rose awkwardly as she entered, but he rose. She handed him the cigar and
struck a match and held it to one end while he drew at the other. Their
faces were close and she gave him a smile of warm and spontaneous
friendliness.
Thought Mr. Kirkpatrick: "Oh, Lord, she's got me.
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