She struck a match, and in the wavering glow she saw his form loom over her.
"No," she half screamed; "don't kiss me. Not yet. Not yet. People can see through the window."
"Leave 'em stare so hard as they've a mind to. What do it matter to we?"
"No, don't be silly. I don't want to start kissing. Besides, I must run. I'm late for the theater."
"Darn the theater. You don't want to go there no more."
"I must give a fortnight's notice."
Mr. Z. Trewhella, a little more than fox, perceived it would not take much to make her repudiate her promise and wisely did not press the point.
"Will I putt 'ee down along a little bit of the road?" he asked.
"No, no. I'm in a hurry. Not to-night."
Presently, in the amber fog that on wet nights suffuses the inside of a tram, Jenny rode down towards the Tube station, picturing to herself her little sister in a garden of flowers.