They were having breakfast at the time, but Lalage looked so sweet, lying back in a big wicker chair, wrapped in an old kimono of Jimmy's, that he felt compelled to lean over and kiss her.
"You won't let me go to drink, will you, Lalage?" he asked.
"Of course not," she answered promptly. "You know how I feel about that. Yet your people would never believe it if they found me—when they find me. We girls," she looked up, a little defiantly, "we girls are supposed to be everything that is bad; whilst they, your City people, have got all the virtues, except charity, which they don't imagine they need."
Jimmy coloured. "You're a bit rough on them sometimes, Lalage," he said.
She shook her head emphatically. "I'm not too rough. Have they any idea of charity, any idea of forgiveness? If I were able to live respectably again, live a good life, would they, or any of their kind, allow me to wipe out the past and start afresh?"
Jimmy suddenly became busy with a cigarette he was rolling. "You are living a respectable life now," he muttered, weakly evading the question.
But Lalage smiled bitterly, and then, with a sudden change of expression, she laid her hand on his, very gently. "No, Jimmy dear, let's be straight, even amongst ourselves. You are all right, because you're a man, and men are allowed to do these things; but they would all treat me as a bad woman, as something rather worse than a dog. Even you, dear, don't respect me, in your heart, although I have tried to make you."
The man got up suddenly, tossing his newly made cigarette into the grate. "I do respect you, you know I do. To me, you come before everyone else in the world; and I think as much of you, as if, as if——" He stammered a little, and, still very gently, she finished the sentence for him.
"As if I were your wife."