"But I should like to know, and you must tell me, Grif."
"Well, if I must tell you, it was with Ally I was sittin'. You never seed her."
"No, I've never seen her," said Milly, scornfully. "I've heard of her, though. She's a lady, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is."
Milly turned away her head and was silent for a few moments; then she said,
"Yes, she's a lady, and I'm not good enough to be to about her. But she isn't prettier than me for all that; she isn't so pretty; I've been told so. She hasn't got finer eyes than me, and she hasn't got smaller hands than me;" and Milly held out hers, proudly--a beautiful little hand--"nor smaller feet, I know, though I've never seen them. And yet she's a lady!"
"Yes, she is."
"And I am not. Of course not. Well, I shall go. Good-night."
"Good-night, Milly," Grif said, in a conflict of agitation. For he knew that he had hurt Milly's feelings, and he was remorseful. He knew that he was right in saying that Alice was a lady, and in inferring that Milly was not; yet he could not have defined why he was right, and he was perplexed. Then he was hungry, and Milly had gone without giving him any money, and he knew that she was angry with him. And he was angry with himself for making her angry.
While he was enduring this conflict of miserable feeling, Milly came back to him. Grif was almost ashamed to look her in the face.