'Do you think so?' she replied, smoothing the fluffy muslin apron with her small hands, black from contact with the guns. 'That one I wore last night was my second-best. I only wear this on Saturdays and Mondays.'
He nodded like a connoisseur. The sixth ball had sprung up to the top of the jet. He removed it with the certainty of a King's Prize winner, and she complimented him.
'Ah!' he said, 'you should have seen me before I took to smoking and drinking!'
She laughed freely. She was always showing her fine teeth. And she had such a frank, jolly countenance, not exactly pretty—better than pretty. She was a little short and a little plump, and she wore a necklace round her neck, a ring on her dainty, dirty finger, and a watch-bracelet on her wrist.
'Why!' she exclaimed. 'How old are you?'
'How old are you?' he retorted.
Dogs do not give things away like that.
'I'm nineteen,' she said submissively. 'At least, I shall be come Martinmas.'
And she yawned.
'Well,' he said, 'a little girl like you ought to be in bed.'