Page 250 - tender-is-the-night

boulevard. The meeting of Sigmund Freud and Ward McAl-
lister.’
Dick didn’t want to talk—he wanted to be alone so that
his thoughts about work and the future would overpower
his thoughts of love and to-day. Nicole knew about it but
only darkly and tragically, hating him a little in an animal
way, yet wanting to rub against his shoulder.
‘The darling,’ Dick said lightly.
He went into the house, forgetting something he wanted
to do there, and then remembering it was the piano. He sat
down whistling and played by ear:

“Just picture you upon my knee
With tea for two and two for tea
And me for you and you for me—‘

Through the melody flowed a sudden realization that Ni-
cole, hearing it, would guess quickly at a nostalgia for the
past fortnight. He broke off with a casual chord and left the
piano.
It was hard to know where to go. He glanced about the
house that Nicole had made, that Nicole’s grandfather had
paid for. He owned only his work house and the ground
on which it stood. Out of three thousand a year and what
dribbled in from his publications he paid for his clothes and
personal expenses, for cellar charges, and for Lanier’s edu-
cation, so far confined to a nurse’s wage. Never had a move
been contemplated without Dick’s figuring his share. Living
rather ascetically, travelling third-class when he was alone,

250 Tender is the Night