“She fancies him?” asked Minikin.
“What she fancies,” explained Jarman, “is that nature intended 'er to be a lady. And it's no good pointing out to 'er the mistake she's making, because she ain't got sense enough to see it.”
“No good talking straight to her,” suggested Minikin, “telling her that it can never be?”
“That's our difficulty,” replied Jarman; “it can be. This chap”—I listened as might a prisoner in the dock to the argument of counsel, interested but impotent—“don't know enough to come in out of the rain, as the saying is. 'E's just the sort of chap this sort of thing does 'appen to.”
“But he don't want her,” urged Minikin. “He says he don't want her.”
“Yes, to you and me,” answered Jarman; “and of course 'e don't. I'm not saying 'e's a natural born idiot. But let 'er come along and do a snivel—tell 'im that 'e's breaking 'er 'eart, and appeal to 'im to be'ave as a gentleman, and all that sort of thing, and what do you think will be the result?”
Minikin agreed that the problem presented difficulties.
“Of course, if 'twas you or me, we should just tell 'er to put 'erself away somewhere where the moth couldn't get at 'er and wait till we sent round for 'er; and there'd be an end of the matter. But with 'im it's different.”
“He is a bit of a soft,” agreed Minikin.
“'Tain't 'is fault,” explained Jarman; “'twas the way 'e was brought up. 'E fancies girls are the sort of things one sees in plays, going about saying 'Un'and me!' 'Let me pass!' Maybe some of 'em are, but this ain't one of 'em.”