He crossed the road abruptly, his hand in his pocket. Max dawdled after him. The woman looked up with awakened interest.
“It’s a long road, kind sir, and poor weather,” she began in a professional drawl, and then stopped. The young face looking down on her had something in its expression to which she was not accustomed. It was as if he checked her begging for very shame. She noticed dully, he held his cap in his hand.
He said nothing at all, but dropped a coin in her hand and went on, followed by Max, who was a little puzzled.
The woman looked after them and forgot she had not thanked him. She wished the moment would repeat itself and the young gentleman stand before her again. She had not taken it all in—taken what in, she hardly knew.
She looked at the coin and it gleamed yellow in her hand. It was half a sovereign. Oh, what luck, what luck! It was a mistake of course—he had thought it 161 was a sixpence no doubt, but he had gone, and she had it.
A vista of unlikely comforts opened before her, even the hat with red flowers was possible. It was careless of him though.
She got up suddenly and looked down the hill. The two were still in sight—the boy had stopped to tie his boot-lace.
She looked at the half-sovereign again, and then set off at a shuffling slipshod trot after them. They had resumed their walk before she reached them, but the boy looking back, saw her, and told the other, who wheeled round sharply, frowning a little.
“’Ere, please sir, I wants to see yer,” she gasped, out of breath, choking a little with unwonted exertion. Christopher went back to her and waited gravely. She opened her hand and the half-sovereign glinted again in the light.
“Expect yer made a mistake, didn’t yer, sir?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, and saw a wave of hot colour under his brown skin.