He wondered what he must seem in her eyes; with his shoulder on a level with hers, with his stocky build that saved him from effeminacy, his carefulness of attire—which is at once the burden and the salvation of the small man.
As for his face, he knew that its homeliness was redeemed by a certain strength of chin, by keen gray eyes, and by a shock of dark hair that showed a little white at the temples. There were worse-looking men, he knew, but that, at the present moment, gave little comfort.
She chose to receive his remark in silence, and, as they came to a path that branched from the road, she said:
"I am going to help take care of a child who is sick. You see I am mistress of all trades—nurse, waitress, charwoman, when there is nothing else."
He glanced at her hands. "I cannot believe that you scrub," he said.
"I sit up at night to care for my hands"—there was a note of bitterness in her tone—"and I wear gloves when I work. There are some things that one desires to hold on to, and my mother and my grandmother were ladies of leisure."
"Would you like that—to be a lady of leisure?"
She turned and smiled at him. "How can I tell?" she asked; "I have never tried it."
She started to leave him as she said it, but he held her with a question: "Shall you sit up all night?"
She nodded. "His mother has had no sleep for two nights."