He glanced across his shoulder at the sunlit street; his flight would be unimpeded.
“Don’t lose your wool, old—— I mean, Jehane. I’ve something to tell you. Had a nice little stroke o’ luck. Made thirty pounds for you.”
The flame of hostility sank at the mention of money. They stood gazing at one another. Each was aware that, within twelve hours of peace being declared, the old feud had all but broken out. Jehane was frightened by the knowledge and self-scornful at her lapse into temper. Ocky was congratulating himself on the dexterous lie with which the crash had been averted.
“Thirty pounds! And you kept it so quiet!”
He twirled his mustaches fiercely, straddling the doormat, all boldness and bullying self-righteousness now. “This little boy may be vulgar sometimes, but he isn’t silly—far from it.”
“But how did you do it?” She leant against him with both her hands on his arm, trying to make his eyes meet hers.
“You wouldn’t understand. Watched the market, yer know. Sold out just in time—last moment in fact.”
“You are clever—that’s what I kept telling Billy and Nan.”
“Think so? I’ve sometimes thought so myself.” He held his face away from hers as she pushed to the door and put her arms about his neck. “And yet you were treating me like a fool just now. You’re too ready at calling me silly and vulgar. I get tired of it.” As he spoke he had in mind the firm way in which a masterful person like Barrington would act. “You’ve got to stop it, Jehane. It’s the last time I mention it.”
“I know I’m unfair—unfair to you, to myself, to all of us. Oh, Ocky, be patient with me; I do so want to be better.”