She paused: he had no word to say, but just stood before her drinking in her beauty, longing, yet afraid, to fall down and worship her.
"Where's Steve?" she said, sharply, stooping down to the bird, who was examining her shoe-lace minutely.
"Gone home," Bob said, finding his tongue. "He'll be at the Paradise by this time likely. Did you want him?"
"A VISION MET HIS GAZE."
"One's always pleased to see Steve," she said, eyeing the stained clothes of the splendid specimen of manhood before her with great displeasure. "He keeps himself decent." She paused again. Bob had nothing to say; he looked down at his own clothes and sighed. "Well," she said, sharply, after a moment, "have you nothing to say for yourself?"
"No," he answered, humbly. "Some can keep clean, some can't. If," sheepishly, "I had a wife, now——"
"A wife!" interrupting him. "D'you suppose any decent woman would undertake you? Not she."
His expression grew quite hopeless.
"You think not?" he said, so sadly that her heart might have been touched. "Well," stooping down and picking up his tools, "I've feared the same myself. It's a bad job, but somehow," looking himself slowly over, "the earth seems to have a spite against me."