She still had her letter of credit. A vast indifference settled down upon him. There was no one else in the doorway. ’ ‘Oui, mais—’ ‘You are, without exception, the most unprincipled, the most unscrupulous, the most shameless, immoral, devious—’ ‘Pardon me, sir,’ burst in Mrs Ibstock suddenly, her tone belligerent, bringing the captain’s tirade to an abrupt halt as he turned to glare at her. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. All this was the work of a minute. The pain in Cathy and Shari Beck’s faces upset him the most, but the posters with a close up of her face they had put all over town made his heart ache more. There it was—to be borrowed.
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