Would I, Jessie? Ah, well, dogs stick to you when men don't."
She was trying to be arch, but her voice was really quivering to tears,
and in that sentence rang all the tragedy of her poor life. Julian looked
across at her as she sat by the tray, buttering now almost mechanically.
She was naturally a pretty girl, but was growing rapidly haggard, and was
badly made up, rouged in wrong places consumptively, powdered everywhere
disastrously. Her eyes were pathetic, but above them the hair was
dreadfully dyed, and frizzed into a desolate turmoil. She had a thin
young figure and anxious hands. As he looked Julian felt a profound pity
and a curious manly friendship for her. She had that saddest aspect of a
human being about whom it doesn't matter. Only it matters about every
living creature so much.
The lady caught his eye, and extended her lips in a forced smile.
"You never know your luck!" she cried. "So it don't do to be down on it.
Come on, dearie. Now then for the tea."
She poured it out, and Julian drew up to the table. Already he felt oddly
at home in this poor room, with this poor life, into which he longed to
bring a little hope, a little safety. Jessie sprang to his knees, and
thence, naughtily, to the table, snuffling towards the plate of toast.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243