“Oh!”
Hilary had already perceived that he had made an awkward, even dangerous, proposal; short, however, of giving her money, the idea of which offended his sense of delicacy, there was no way out of it. He said brusquely: “Come along!”
The little model rose obediently. Hilary noticed that her boots were split, and this—as though he had seen someone strike a child—so moved his indignation that he felt no more qualms, but rather a sort of pleasant glow, such as will come to the most studious man when he levels a blow at the conventions.
He looked down at his companion—her eyes were lowered; he could not tell at all what she was thinking of.
“This is what I was going to speak to you about,” he said: “I don't like that house you're in; I think you ought to be somewhere else. What do you say?”
“Yes, Mr. Dallison.”
“You'd better make a change, I think; you could find another room, couldn't you?”
The little model answered as before: “Yes, Mr. Dallison.”
“I'm afraid that Hughs is-a dangerous sort of fellow.”
“He's a funny man.”