“All men are like that,” she insisted.
“No, no, no!” protested Swan. “We’ve got our faults, but we haven’t got the same kind of faults. Most of us are straightforward. How do you manage to rub along, ma’am, if it isn’t a rude question?”
“It is a rude question; but I do dressmaking, and I take lodgers.”
“You take in lodgers?”
She smiled, and Swan could not help thinking that only trouble interfered with her good looks. She sent the child to the scullery for a jug of water.
“Not for me,” he insisted. “I shall have something with my supper, later on.”
“It’s for the flowers,” as the child obeyed. “And I didn’t want her to hear what I was about to tell you,” she went on confidentially. “The fact is— As you say, it has been an extraordinary autumn. The sun to-day was enough to make people’s eyes ache.”
“Ain’t spilt a drop,” announced the child, who had returned swiftly.
Swan moved his chair nearer.
“You’ve got eyes,” he said, lowering his voice, “eyes like the head-lights on an engine.”