xi

They neared the road in which the Blanchards lived:  Emmy began to press forward as Alf seemed inclined to loiter.  In the neighbourhood the church that had struck eight as they left the house began once again to record an hour.

“By George!” cried Alf.  “Twelve ...  Midnight!” They could feel the day pass.

They were at the corner, beside the little chandler’s shop which advertised to the moon its varieties of tea; and Alf paused once again.

“Half a tick,” he said.  “No hurry, is there?”

“You’ll come in for a bit of supper,” Emmy urged.  Then, plumbing his hesitation, she went on, in a voice that had steel somewhere in its depths.  “They’ll both be gone to bed.  She won’t be there.”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that,” Alf declared, with unconvincing nonchalance.

“I’ll give you a drop of Pa’s beer,” Emmy said drily.

She took out a key, and held it up for his inspection.

“I say!” Alf pretended to be surprised at the sight of a key.

“Quite a big girl, aren’t I!  Well, you see:  there are two, and Pa never goes out.  So we have one each.  Saves a lot of bother.”  As she spoke Emmy was unlocking the door and entering the house.  “See, you can have supper with me, and then it won’t seem so far to walk home.  And you can throw Madame Buck’s rinds at the back of the fire.  You’ll like that; and so will she.”

Alf, now perfectly docile, and even thrilled with pleasure at the idea of being with her for a little while longer, followed Emmy into the passage, where the flickering gas showed too feeble a light to be of any service to them.  Between the two walls they felt their way into the house, and Alf softly closed the door.

“Hang your hat and coat on the stand,” whispered Emmy, and went tiptoeing forward to the kitchen.  It was in darkness.  “Oo, she is a monkey!  She’s let the fire out,” Emmy continued, in the same whisper.  “Have you got a match?  The gas is out.”  She opened the kitchen door wide, and stood there taking off her hat, while Alf fumbled his way along the passage.  “Be quick,” she said.

Alf pretended not to be able to find the matches, so that he might give her a hearty kiss in the darkness.  He was laughing to himself because he had only succeeded, in his random venture, in kissing her chin; and then, when she broke away with a smothered protest and a half laugh, he put his hand in his pocket again for the match-box.  The first match fizzed along the box as it was struck, and immediately went out.

“Oh, do hurry up!” cried Emmy in a whisper, thinking he was still sporting with her.  “Don’t keep on larking about, Alf!”

“I’m not!” indignantly answered the delinquent.  “It wouldn’t strike.  Half a tick!”

He moved forward in the darkness, to be nearer the gas; and as he took the step his foot caught against something upon the floor.  He exclaimed.