showed grayer than usual and his lips seemed thicker and his figure, in pyjamas, looked heavier, older. Billy, exaggerating this to himself, saw him as gross and contemptible and made Hale thoroughly aware that he was so seen.
"How is Marjorie?" Hale asked, still with an effort keeping his tone dull.
"I found her on Clearedge Street," Billy repeated.
"Well, what of that?" Hale shot sharply now. "Clearedge Street may be right enough; what do you mean? What do you mean about her, fool—fool?"
"I don't mean I found her living on Clearedge Street precisely as you were," Billy replied heavily, slowly and deliberately taunting him.
"Fool!" Hale murmured again; he half turned from Billy, staring away; then he clutched the foot of his bed. "Go on; tell me."
"You would not know her."
That was not true and Billy recognized it the moment he had it out; but, at that moment, he was not consciously describing Marjorie; he was accusing her father; and that did very well for an accusation, for Hale jerked about, his head lifting.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Mentally, I mean, and in her character. Marjorie's physical health—if that is what you chiefly want to know"
"Fool," muttered Hale to himself. "Oh, fool—fool," but he could do nothing but stand and take it.
"—is fairly good, I suppose," Billy continued. "She is somewhat thinner—not than she was when she left your home but much thinner than before you"
Hale's eyes flashed at him and Billy omitted that.
