Petheram had obviously staked out an
indisputable claim. Her attitude toward him was that of an affectionate
devotee toward a high priest. One morning, entering the office
unexpectedly, Roland found her kissing the top of Mr. Petheram's head;
and from that moment his interest in the fortunes of 'Squibs' sank to
zero. It amazed him that he could ever have been idiot enough to have
allowed himself to be entangled in this insane venture for the sake of
an insignificant-looking bit of a girl with a snub-nose and a poor
complexion.
What particularly galled him was the fact that he was throwing away
good cash for nothing. It was true that his capital was more than equal
to the, on the whole, modest demands of the paper, but that did not
alter the fact that he was wasting money. Mr. Petheram always talked
buoyantly about turning the corner, but the corner always seemed just
as far off.
The old idea of flight, to which he invariably had recourse in any
crisis, came upon Roland with irresistible force. He packed a bag, and
went to Paris. There, in the discomforts of life in a foreign country,
he contrived for a month to forget his white elephant.
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