'Oh,' said Betty, with an emphatic utterance, 'I would like a place where I could breathe!'
'Better lodgings?'
'Fresh air. I would beg for air. Of all the horrors of such places, the worst seems to me the want of air fit to breathe.'
'Then you think she ought to have a better lodging, in a better quarter. She cannot pay for it. I can. Ought I to give it to her?'
Betty fidgeted, inwardly. The conditions of the cab did not allow of much external fidgeting.
'I do not know why you ask me this,' she said.
'No; but indulge me! I do not ask you without a purpose.'
'I am afraid of your purpose! Yes; if I must tell you, I should say, Oh, take me out of this! Let me see the sun whenever he can be seen in this rainy London; and let me have sweet air outside of my windows. Then I would like somebody to look after me; to open my window in summer and make my fire in winter, and prepare nice meals for me. I would like good bread, and a cup of drinkable tea, and a little bit of butter on my bread. And clothes enough to keep clean; and then I would like to live to thank you!'
Betty had worked herself up to a point where she was very near a great burst of tears. She stopped with a choked sob in her throat, and looked out of the cab window. Pitt's voice was changed when he spoke.
'That is just what I thought.'