‘I got meself talked about,’ she said, at last.
‘Yes, I happened to come into the Court the day you were acquitted. I thought it brutal to make you stand there.’
‘I reely did speak to a man,’ said the girl, surprisingly, ‘I wouldn’t tell Mr Cherrell, but I did. I was just fed-up with wanting money. D’you think it was bad of me?’
‘Well, personally, I should have to want more than money before I did it.’
‘You never have wanted money – not reely.’
‘I suppose you’re right, although I’ve never had much.’
‘It’s better than stealin’,’ said the girl, grimly: ‘after all, what is it? You can forget about it. At least, that’s what I thought. Nobody thinks the worse of a man or does anything to him for it. But you won’t tell Mrs Mont what I’m telling you?’
‘Of course not. Had things been going very badly?’
‘Shockin’. Me and my sister make just enough when we’re in full work. But she was ill five weeks, and on the top of that I lost my purse one day, with thirty bob in it. That wasn’t my fault, anyway.’
‘Wretched luck.’
‘Rotten! If I’d been a reel one d’you think they’d have spotted me – it was just my being green. I bet girls in high life have no trouble that way when they’re hard up.’
‘Well,’ said Dinny, ‘I suppose there are girls not above helping out their incomes in all sorts of ways. All the same, I think that kind of thing ought only to go with affection; but I expect I’m old-fashioned.’
The girl turned another long and this time almost admiring look on her.
‘You’re a lady, Miss. I must say I should like to be one meself, but what you’re born you stay.’
Dinny wriggled. ‘Oh! Bother that word! The best ladies I’ve known are old cottage women in the country.’
‘Reely?’
‘Yes. And I think some of the girls in London shops are the equal of anyone.’
‘Well, there is some awful nice girls, I must say. My sister is much better than me. She’d never ’ave done a thing like that. Your uncle said something I shall remember, but I can’t never depend on meself. I’m one to like pleasure if I can get it; and why not?’
‘The point is rather: What is pleasure? A casual man can’t possibly be pleasure. He’d be the very opposite.’
The girl nodded.
‘That’s true enough. But when you’re bein’ chivied about for want of money you’re willin’ to put up with things you wouldn’t otherwise. You take my word for that.’
It was Dinny’s turn to nod.
‘My uncle’s a nice man, don’t you think?’
‘He’s a gentleman – never comes religion over you. And he’ll always put his hand in his pocket, if there’s anything there.’
‘That’s not often, I should think,’ said Dinny; ‘my family is pretty poor.’
‘It isn’t money makes the gentleman.’
Dinny heard the remark without enthusiasm; she seemed, indeed, to have heard it before. ‘We’d better take a ’bus now,’ she said.
The day was sunny, and they got on the top. ‘D’you like this new Regent Street?’ asked Dinny.
‘Oh yes! I think it’s fine.’
‘Didn’t you like the old street better?’
‘No. It was so dull and yellow, and all the same.’
‘But unlike any other street, and the regularity suited the curve.’
The girl seemed to perceive that a question of taste was concerned; she hesitated, then said assertively:
‘It’s much brighter now, I think. Things seem to move more – not so formal-like.’
‘Ah!’
‘I do like the top of a ’bus,’ continued the girl; ‘you can see such a lot. Life does go on, don’t it?’
In the girl’s cockney-fied voice, those words hit Dinny a sort of blow. What was her own life but a cut-and-dried affair? What risks or adventure did it contain? Life for people who depended on their jobs was vastly more adventurous. Her own job so far had been to have no job. And, thinking of Jean, she said: ‘I’m afraid I live a very humdrum life. I always seem to be waiting for things.’
The girl again stole a sideway look.
‘Why, you must have lots of fun, pretty like you are!’
‘Pretty? My nose turns up.’
‘Ah! but you’ve got style. Style’s everything. I always think you may have looks, but it’s style that gets you there.’
‘I’d rather have looks.’
‘Oh! no. Anyone can be a good-looker.’