The room was growing dusk.

‘Aren’t you very lonely here?’ Jessie asked, an indescribable change in her voice.

‘Yes, I suppose I am.  You won’t make it any better by telling me so.’

‘I feel sorry.’

‘I dare say you do.’

‘Of course you don’t believe me.  All the same, I do feel sorry.’

‘That won’t help.’

‘No?—­I suppose it won’t.’

The words were breathed out on a sigh.  Dagworthy made no answer.

‘I’m not much better off,’ she continued, in a low-spirited voice.

‘Nonsense!’ he ejaculated, roughly, half turning his back on her.

Jessie fumbled a moment at her dress; then, succeeding in getting her handkerchief out, began to press it against her eyes furtively.  Strangely, there was real moisture to be removed.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Dagworthy asked with surprise.

She no longer attempted concealment, but began to cry quietly.

‘What the deuce has come to you, Jessie?’

‘You—­you—­speak very unkindly to me,’ she sobbed.

‘Speak unkindly?  I didn’t know it.  What did I say?’

‘You won’t believe when I say I’m sorry you feel lonely.’

’Why, confound it, I’ll believe as much as you like, if it comes to that.  Put that handkerchief away, and drink another glass of wine.’

She stood up, and went to lean on the mantelpiece, hiding her face.  When he was near her again, she continued her complaints in a low voice.

’It’s so miserable at home.  They want me to be a teacher, and how can I?  I never pretended to be clever, and if I’d all the lessons under the sun, I should never be able to teach French—­and—­arithmetic—­and those things.  But I wish I could; then I should get away from home, and see new people.  There’s nobody I care to see in Dunfield—­nobody but one—­’

She stopped on a sob.

‘Who’s that?’ Dagworthy asked, looking at her with a singular expression, from head to foot.

She made no answer, but sobbed again.

‘What Christmas presents have you had?’ was his next question, irrelevant enough apparently.

’Oh, none—­none to speak of—­a few little things.  What do I care for presents?  You can’t live on presents.’

‘Can’t live on them?  Are things bad at home?’

’I didn’t mean that.  But of course they’re bad; they’re always bad nowadays.  However, Barbara’s going to be married in a week; she’ll be one out of the way.  And of course I haven’t a dress fit to be seen in for the wedding.’

‘Why then, get a dress.  How much will it cost?’ He went to a writing-table, unlocked a drawer, and took out a cheque-book.  ’Now then,’ he said, half jestingly, half in earnest, ’what is it to be?  Anything you like to say—­I’ll write it.’

‘As if I wanted money!’

’I can give you that.  I don’t see what else I can do.  It isn’t to be despised.’