“I understand,” said the Ugly Little Girl slowly. “It ain’t nice to be laughed at because you ’ave an ugly body, but it’s better to let folk laugh at you and laugh with them than go around with a long face. It’s comfortin’ to think that God don’t take no account of your body. They say as ’ow ’E made it, but I’m thinking as it’s your father and mother ’as a good ’and in it, and it ain’t fair to lay all the blame on God.”
“Oh no,” said Peter airily but vaguely, and completely at a loss for a suitable reply. And then he bethought him of the coco-nut shies, and led the way in that direction.
“Ain’t you givin’ me a time!” said the Ugly Little Girl gleefully.
Much later, in the gathering dusk, there was dancing; and, as is the way with fairs, a certain roughness and rowdyism began to prevail. Peter [Pg 259]had his own ideas as to the propriety of certain places for women, of whatever class.
“It is time you left,” he remarked coolly.
She glanced up, surprised.
“It is,” said Peter authoritatively, “too rough here now for a woman.”
She blushed with pleasure. The other swains would keep their girls there till Heaven knows what o’clock.
“Where do you live?” demanded Peter.
“In Watermill Street,” she replied, meek, delighted. And then, with a sudden burst of honesty, “I’m—I’m only a maid-of-all-work.”