"What did you say?"
"I told him after the next turning, and every time we come to the next turning I told him the next, till we got to our gate. I said good night, and he said, 'What about my kiss?' I said, 'There's a cheek; you don't want much'; and he said, 'I give you a brooch last week, Jenny'; and I said, 'There's your brooch,' and I threw it down."
"What did he do?"
"He couldn't do much. I trod on it and ran in."
"Somebody'll shoot you one day," prophesied May.
"Who cares? Besides, they haven't got no pluck. Men are walking cigarettes, that's what men are."
Drury Lane pantomime came to an end.
"And a good job," said Jenny, "for it isn't a pantomime at all; it's more of a Lord Mayor's show."
Jenny now had to rehearse hard for the ballet at Covent Garden, but there was still plenty of time in the lengthening spring dusks with their silver stars and luminous horizons, to fool plenty of men. There was a quarrelsome interlude with Alfie on this account. The latter had rashly presented one of his own friends for Jenny's sport. The friend had spent most of his income on chocolates and pit-stalls, and at one swoop a whole week's salary on a garnet bracelet.
"Look here," said Alfie, "don't you get playing your tricks on any of my friends, because I won't have it."