Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/216

"Did yer expect us to take yer to Timbuctoo?" scoffed the conductor, with the usual contempt of his kind for the passenger who gets into the wrong omnibus. But the victim of his scorn was as regardless of it as of the pink ticket he was grinding into pulp in his hand; and he stood on the pavement with his underlip drawn tightly inwards, until he had regained his customary air of gentlemanly indifference. Then he turned up into Regent Street and made a cross cut through the slums that lie on the borders of Soho.

And as Jean was hastening along Oxford Street, ten minutes later, she met him coming towards her with a superb expression of pleased surprise on his face, which deceived her so completely that she bowed at once and held out her hand to him, although, as she said afterwards to Nancy, "he was being most dreadfully unconventional, and I couldn't help wondering if he would have spoken to me again, if I had worn my new tailor-made gown and looked ordinary." At the time she only felt that Oxford Street, even on a damp and muggy morning, was quite a nice place for a walk.

"Beastly day for you to be out," he began, taking away her umbrella and holding his own over her head. To be looked after was a novel experience to Jean, and she found herself half resenting his air of protection.

"Oh, it's all right. You get used to it when you have to," she said with a short laugh. It was not at all what she wanted to say to him, but the perversity of her nature was uppermost and she had to say it.

"All the same, it is beastly rough on you," he persisted.

"Why? Some one must do the work," she said defiantly.

"Is it so important, then?" he asked with a smile that was half a sneer. Jean blushed hotly.

"It