The group was completed by a second man, younger than the other, and taller. He was holding a hand to his face, which the girl had evidently buffeted. The young fellow was saying something which I could not catch in a plaintive voice, and the girl—jocund creature—was leaning against the wall, swaying and shaking with silent laughter.
That mournful syren still jarred upon one's ears, and set a cog-wheel running up one's backbone; the dark clouds jostled each other as before, and were reflected in the oily sludge beneath them; the wind blew from every quarter at once, and the fallen leaves that lay upon the footway rustled in it like a shroud. And this girl leaned up against a pillar and shook herself with laughter.
Then I went closer still and perceived my folly. The girl was not laughing at all. That which I had supposed to be mirth was really its opposite. The girl was crying—crying silently and effectively, and without ostentation. When feminine lamentations are conducted with this sort of restraint there is usually a reason for them.
The stupid man spoke to the girl. "Why don't you take 'eed to what 'Erb says?" he demanded. "Why dontchew go 'ome? There's sense in what 'Erb says."
And then the young man spoke, saying, "That's right, ole Emma. Come along 'ome, ole Emma."
The girl crept closer to the wall, flattened herself against it, as if she sought protection there. "I—I wown't gow 'owm," she said, between the sobs. "I wown't move from 'ere, I wown't, till it's nine o'clock. The gentleman said, 'Come back at nine o'clock.' 'Come back at nine o'clock,' he said. You 'eard what 'e said, 'Erb. I wown't move from 'ere, I wown't."
'Erb went closer to her. They were all so occupied with this discussion that I am sure my presence was not observed. It was as though I wore some mantle of invisibility. I could have danced a hornpipe, I believe, without attracting notice.... "What's the good of talkin' like that?" said 'Erb to the girl. "Come along 'ome, Emma."
"I wown't move a step from 'ere, I wown't," responded Emma. "You 'ear what I say? I wown't move, I tell you. The gentleman said, 'Come back at nine o'clock,' an' at nine o'clock I'm goin' back—to see my baby.
"... If you was a man you'd take me over now"—she pointed, vaguely, in the direction of Charing Cross Hospital—"you'd take me back and fight 'em, you would, till they let us in. What they want to turn us out till mornin' for?
"I wanter see my baby, I do. My baby'll die afore it's morning.