that moment when he took her in his arms; she still felt the roughness of his beard pressing on her mouth. Her heart seemed to grow larger in her breast, and she caught for breath as she threw back her head as if to receive his lips again. A shudder ran through her from the vividness of the thought.
'Wot are you shiverin' for, Liza?' asked one of the girls. 'You ain't cold.'
'Not much,' answered Liza, blushing awkwardly on her meditations being broken into. 'Why, I'm sweatin' so—I'm drippin' wet.'
'I expect yer caught cold in the Faurest yesterday.'
'I see your mash as I was comin' along this mornin'.'
Liza stared a little.
'I ain't got one, 'oo d'yer mean, ay?'
'Yer only Tom, of course. 'E did look washed aht. Wot was yer doin' with 'im yesterday?'
''E ain't got nothin' ter do with me, 'e ain't.'
'Garn, don't you tell me!'
The bell rang, and, throwing over their work, the girls trooped off, and after chattering in groups outside the factory gates for a while, made their way in different directions to their respective homes. Liza and Sally went along together.
'I sy, we are comin' aht!' cried Sally, seeing the advertisement of a play being acted at the neighbouring theatre.
'I should like ter see thet!' said Liza, as they stood arm-in-arm in front of the flaring poster. It represented two rooms and a passage in between; in one room a dead man was lying on the floor, while two others were standing horror-stricken, listening to a youth who was in the passage, knocking at the door.
'You see, they've 'killed im,' said Sally, excitedly.
'Yus, any fool can see thet! an' the one ahtside, wot's 'e doin' of?'
'Ain't 'e beautiful? I'll git my 'Arry ter tike me, I will. I should like ter see it. 'E said 'e'd tike me to the ply.'
They strolled on again, and Liza, leaving Sally, made her way to her mother's. She knew she must pass Jim's house, and wondered whether she would see him. But as she walked along the street she saw Tom coming the opposite way; with a sudden impulse she turned back so as not to meet him, and began walking the way she had come. Then thinking herself a fool for what she had done, she turned again and walked towards him. She wondered if she had seen her or noticed her movement, but when she looked down the street he was nowhere to be seen; he had not caught sight of her, and had evidently gone in to see a mate in one or other of the houses. She quickened her step, and passing the house where lived Jim, could not help looking up; he was standing at the door watching her, with a smile on his lips.
'I didn't see yer, Mr. Blakeston,' she said, as he came up to her.
'Didn't yer? Well, I knew yer would; an' I was witin' for yer ter look up. I see yer before ter-day.'
'Na, when?'
'I passed be'ind yer as you an' thet other girl was lookin' at the advertisement of thet ply.'
'I never see yer.'
'Na, I know yer didn't. I 'ear yer say, you says: "I should like to see thet."'
'Yus, an' I should too.'
'Well, I'll tike yer.'
'You?'
'Yus; why not?'
'I like thet; wot would yer missus sy?'
'She wouldn't know.'
'But the neighbours would!'
'No they wouldn't, no one 'd see us.'
He was speaking in a low voice so that people could not hear.
'You could meet me ahtside the theatre,' he went on.
'Na, I couldn't go with you; you're a married man.'
'Garn! wot's the matter—jest ter go ter the ply? An' besides, my missus can't come if she wanted, she's got the kids ter look after.'
'I should like ter see it,' said Liza meditatively.
They had reached her house, and Jim said:
'Well, come aht this evenin' and tell me if yer will—eh, Liza?'
'Na, I'm not comin' aht this evening.'
'Thet won't 'urt yer. I shall wite for yer.'
''Tain't a bit of good your witing', 'cause I shan't come.'
'Well, then, look 'ere, Liza; next Saturday night's the last night, an' I shall go to the theatre, any'ow. An' if you'll come, you just come to the door at 'alf-past six, an' you'll find me there. See?'
'Na, I don't,' said Liza, firmly.
'Well, I shall expect yer.'
'I shan't come, so you needn't expect.' And with that she walked into the house and slammed the door behind her.
Her mother had not come in from her day's charing, and Liza set about getting her tea. She thought it would be rather lonely eating it alone, so pouring out a cup of tea and putting a little condensed milk into it, she cut a huge piece of bread-and-butter, and sat herself down outside on the doorstep. Another woman came downstairs, and seeing Liza, sat down by her side and began to talk.
'Why, Mrs. Stanley, wot 'ave yer done to your 'ead?' asked Liza, noticing a bandage round her forehead.
'I 'ad an accident last night,' answered the woman, blushing uneasily.
'Oh, I am sorry! Wot did yer do to yerself?'
'I fell against the coal-scuttle and cut my 'ead open.'
'Well, I never!'
'To tell yer the truth, I 'ad a few words with my old man. But one doesn't like them things to get abaht; yer won't tell anyone, will yer?'
'Not me!' answered Liza. 'I didn't know yer husband was like thet.'
'Oh, 'e's as gentle as a lamb when 'e's sober,' said Mrs. Stanley, apologetically. 'But, Lor' bless yer, when 'e's 'ad a drop too much 'e's a demond, an' there's no two ways abaht it.'
'An' you ain't been married long neither?' said Liza.
'Na, not above eighteen months; ain't it disgriceful? Thet's wot the doctor at the 'orspital says ter me. I 'ad ter go ter the 'orspital. You should have seen 'ow it bled!—it bled all dahn' my fice, and went streamin' like a bust waterpipe. Well, it fair frightened my old man, an' I says ter 'im, "I'll charge yer," an' although I was bleedin' like a bloomin' pig I shook my fist at 'im, an' I says, "I'll charge ye—see if I don't!" An' 'e says, "Na," says 'e, "don't do thet, for God's sike, Kitie, I'll git three months." "An' serve yer damn well right!" says I, an' I went aht an' left 'im. But, Lor' bless yer, I wouldn't charge 'im! I know 'e don't mean it; 'e's as gentle as a lamb when 'e's sober.' She smiled quite affectionately as she said this.
'Wot
