Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/217

"It means my living to me," she said; and he winced at her unpleasant frankness.

"You were quite different yesterday, weren't you?" he complained gently.

"You speak as though my being one thing or another ought to depend on your pleasure," she retorted; "of course, you think like everybody else that a woman is only to be tolerated as long as she is cheerful. How can you be cheerful when the weather is dreary, and you are tired out with yesterday's work? You don't know what it is like. You should keep to the women who don't work; they will always look pretty, and smile sweetly and behave in a domesticated manner."

"I don't think I said anything to provoke all that, did I?"

"Yes, you did," she answered unreasonably. "I said—I mean you said, oh never mind! But you do like domesticated women best, don't you? On your honour now?"

There was no doubt that he did, especially at that moment. But he lied, smilingly, and well.

"I like all women. But most of all, women like you. Didn't I tell you yesterday how happy you looked? You are such a rum little girl—oh hang, please forgive me. But without any rotting, I wish you'd tell me what you do want me to say. When I said how jolly you looked, you were offended; and now I pity you for being out in the rain, you don't like that any better. What am I to do?"

"I don't see why you should do anything," she said curtly. They had reached the corner of Berners Street, and she came to a standstill. "I am glad I met you again," she added very quickly, without meeting his eyes. And then she ran down the street, and disappeared inside a doorway.

Tom Unwin stepped into a hansom with two umbrellas and anunsatisfactory