“Are you feeling it hot in here?”

“Yes—­it’s very close.”

He did not offer to take her out—­it did not strike him that she could want to leave.

“You haven’t sucked your orange—­that’ll freshen you a bit.”

Ellen looked at her orange.

“Let me peel it for you,” said Alce, noticing her gloved hands.

“Thanks very much—­but I can’t eat it here; there’s nowhere to put the skin and pips.”

“What about the floor?  Reckon they sweep out the sawdust after each performance.”

“I’m sure I hope they do,” said Ellen, whose next-door neighbour had spat at intervals between his knees, “but really, I’d rather keep the orange till I get home.”

At that moment the ring-master came in to start the second half of the entertainment, and Alce turned away from Ellen.  He was unconscious of her till the band played “God Save the King,” and there was a great scraping of feet as the audience turned to go out.

“We’ll go and have a cup of tea,” said Alce.

He took her into the refreshment tent, and blundered as far as offering her a twopenny ice-cream at the ice-cream stall.  He was beginning to realize that she took her pleasures differently from most girls he knew; he felt disappointed and ill at ease with her—­it would be dreadful if she went home and told Joanna she had not enjoyed herself.

“What would you like to do now?” he asked when they had emptied their tea-cups and eaten their stale buns in the midst of a great steaming, munching squash—­“there’s swings and stalls and a merry-go-round—­and I hear the Fat Lady’s the biggest they’ve had yet in Rye; but maybe you don’t care for that sort of thing?”

“No, I don’t think I do, and I’m feeling rather tired.  We ought to be starting back before long.”

“Oh, not till you’ve seen all the sights.  Joanna ud never forgive me if I didn’t show you the sights.  We’ll just stroll around, and then we’ll go to the George and have the trap put to.”

Ellen submitted—­she was a born submitter, whose resentful and watchful submission had come almost to the pitch of art.  She accompanied Alce to the swings, though she would not go up in them, and to the merry-go-round, though she would not ride in it.

“There’s Ellen Godden out with her sister’s young man,” said a woman’s voice in the crowd.

“Maybe he’ll take the young girl now he can’t get the old ’un,” a man answered her.

“Oh, Arthur Alce ull never change from Joanna Godden.”

“But the sister’s a dear liddle thing, better worth having to my mind.”

“Still, I’ll never believe ...”

The voices were lost in the crowd, and Ellen never knew who had spoken, but for the first time that afternoon her boredom was relieved.  It was rather pleasant to have anyone think that Arthur Alce was turning to her from Joanna ... it would be a triumph indeed if he actually did turn ... for the first time she began to take an interest in him.