“Three and sixpence for my rent, and breakfast costs threepence nearly—­only bread-and-butter—­that’s five and two; and washing’s always at least tenpence—­that’s six; and little things last week was a shilling—­even when I don’t take buses—­seven; that leaves five shillings for my dinners.  Mr. Stone always gives me tea.  It’s my clothes worries me.”  She tucked her feet farther beneath the seat, and Hilary refrained from looking down.  “My hat is awful, and I do want some—–­” She looked Hilary in the face for the first time.  “I do wish I was rich.”

“I don’t wonder.”

The little model gritted her teeth, and, twisting at her dirty gloves, said:  “Mr. Dallison, d’you know the first thing I’d buy if I was rich?”

“No.”

“I’d buy everything new on me from top to toe, and I wouldn’t ever wear any of these old things again.”

Hilary got up:  “Come with me now, and buy everything new from top to toe.”

“Oh!”

Hilary had already perceived that he had made an awkward, even dangerous, proposal; short, however, of giving her money, the idea of which offended his sense of delicacy, there was no way out of it.  He said brusquely:  “Come along!”

The little model rose obediently.  Hilary noticed that her boots were split, and this—­as though he had seen someone strike a child—­so moved his indignation that he felt no more qualms, but rather a sort of pleasant glow, such as will come to the most studious man when he levels a blow at the conventions.

He looked down at his companion—­her eyes were lowered; he could not tell at all what she was thinking of.

“This is what I was going to speak to you about,” he said:  “I don’t like that house you’re in; I think you ought to be somewhere else.  What do you say?”

“Yes, Mr. Dallison.”

“You’d better make a change, I think; you could find another room, couldn’t you?”

The little model answered as before:  “Yes, Mr. Dallison.”

“I’m afraid that Hughs is-a dangerous sort of fellow.”

“He’s a funny man.”

“Does he annoy you?”

Her expression baffled Hilary; there seemed a sort of slow enjoyment in it.  She looked up knowingly.

“I don’t mind him—­he won’t hurt me.  Mr. Dallison, do you think blue or green?”

Hilary answered shortly:  “Bluey-green.”

She clasped her hands, changed her feet with a hop, and went on walking as before.

“Listen to me,” said Hilary; “has Mrs. Hughs been talking to you about her husband?”

The little model smiled again.

“She goes on,” she said.

Hilary bit his lips.

“Mr. Dallison, please—­about my hat?”

“What about your hat?”

“Would you like me to get a large one or a small one?”

“For God’s sake,” answered Hilary, “a small one—­no feathers.”

“Oh!”

“Can you attend to me a minute?  Have either Hughs or Mrs. Hughs spoken to you about—­coming to my house, about—­me?”