There was a closed door on the left. Alf thrust it open without asking leave; but Ruth barred his passage with an arm across the door.
"What's that?" he asked, prying.
"Our room. You can't go in there. That's where my children was born."
Alf tilted his chin at her knowingly.
"All but little Alice," he reminded her. His eyes glittered in the dark. "Does he stand you anything for her?" he continued confidentially. "Should do—a gentleman. Now if you could get an affiliation order against him that'd be worth five or six bob a week to you. And that's money to a woman in your position—pay me my rent and all too. Only pity is," he ended, thoughtfully, "can't be done. You and me know that if Ern don't."
Ruth broke fiercely away.
Leisurely he followed her down the stairs with loud feet. He was greatly at his ease. His hat, which he had never taken off, was on the back of his big head. He was sucking a dirty pencil, and studying his rent-book, as he entered the kitchen.
"You're a bit behind, I see," casually.
"Only two weeks," as coldly.
"As yet."