"Oh! Her! That's different. She wasn't fond of him like I am."
"Don't I? Besides, she was one of your ladies. I'm sorry for them, always keeping one eye lifting on what other ladies are going to think."
"That's not your business, Mr. Kilner. If he did, I'd know you'd been making him upset with your talk."
"Something just as deep as what you call love; probably deeper."
They had walked down the street leading to the mews, and now came to the corner. Ann stopped and stood hesitating. Her hand went up, and she pulled at her lower lip and shifted her feet uneasily.
"I known girls be left," she muttered, "girls like me. They pulled through somehow. But I don't think they was fond of the men like I am of him. And you say he's fond of me. I know there isn't anybody else."
"He's never looked at anybody else. I'd feel better if he did. What call has he to go and make trouble if there isn't anybody else? Lots of girls would have chucked work when they'd found a man like that to live on. They get sick of being on their own. I've been on my own since I was sixteen, and I couldn't give it up for anybody."
"No, I don't. I expect him to stand by me, that's all. I have my feelings too. He's not the only person in the world with feelings. I'm very fond of him, Mr. Kilner, but sometimes I think he's a bit soft, and I do hate a softy. Ooh! I'll be late."
She walked swiftly away. Very young she looked. She moved not gracefully, but with a birdlike energy that was pleasing. Kilner, surveying her figure, approved of it, until he came to her shoulders. They were slightly stooping and rounded, and she swung them awkwardly as she walked.
"Ugly and weak," said Kilner to himself. "Stooping over an infernal machine. Taken something out of her. Not her spirit. Given her a cramped habit of body. Nonsense. No good trying to account for it. He is simply not in love with her, never has been, nor she with him."
He went up to his room and found it empty. No René. No sign of him at Ann's. He had not been seen at the yard. His car was out with a temporary driver. A child in the mews had seen him in the main road. He had gone into a tobacconist's and then climbed on a bus. The tobacconist remembered his coming in to get change for a sovereign. He looked rather strange and excited. "It's a fine day," said the tobacconist. "Fine, be blowed," replied René. "It's as empty as hell." "I wouldn't say that," said the tobacconist, "with the sun shining." "But I do say it," insisted René. "You couldn't call that shining." And then another customer came in.