"I shouldn't have mentioned it," said Lola apologetically, "but you're
always so spick and span."
"And now I'm getting shabby!"
I threw back my head and laughed at the new and comical conception of
Simon de Gex down at heel.
"Oh, not shabby!" echoed Lola.
"Yes, my dear. The days of purple and fine linen are _vorbei_. You'll
have to put up with me in a threadbare coat and frayed cuffs and ragged
hems to my trousers."
Lola declared that I was talking rubbish.
"Not quite such rubbish as you may think, my dear. Shall you mind?"
"It would break my heart. But why do you talk so? You can't be--as
poor--as that?"
Her face manifested such tragic concern that I laughed. Besides, the
idea of personal poverty amused me. When I gave up my political work
I should only have what I had saved from my wreck--some two hundred a
year--to support me until I should find some other means of livelihood.
It was enough to keep me from starvation, and the little economies I had
begun to practise afforded me enjoyment.
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