"Oh, I love tramps," she said; "they're always quite nice to you if you don't bully them or patronize them. There were two jolly ones last week, and I talked to them, and they made tea out in the road, you know, and gave me a cup over the fence. It was nasty." She shuddered a little. "But I liked it awfully, all the same," she added. "I wish I were a tramp."
"It's not a bad life," said he.
"It's the life," she said, enthusiastically. "No ties, no responsibilities—no nasty furniture and hateful ornaments—you just go where you like and do what you like; and when you don't like where you are, you go somewhere else; and when you don't like what you're doing, you needn't go on doing it."
"Those are very irresponsible sentiments—for a lady."
"I know. That's why I think it's so dull being a woman. Men can do whatever they want to."
"Only if they haven't their living to earn," said Edward, not quite so much to himself as he would have liked.
There was a little pause, and then, still less himself, he blundered into, "I say, it is jolly of you to talk to me like this."
She froze at once. "I forgot," she said, "that we had not been introduced. Thank you for reminding me."
Edward's better self was now wholly lost, and what was left of him could find nothing better to answer than, "Oh, I say!"