“You heard?”
“Yes—I heard! How could I help it?”
Milly mustered up her courage.
“You dirty, eavesdropping sneak!”
Nathan raised his hand. On his harrowed face was a sad, disillusioned smile. He addressed himself to Plumb.
“How long has it been going on, Si?”
The steam-fitter was dressed in his Sunday-evening best. His Sunday-evening best was slightly rumpled by his liaison with Milly. Once he cast his eyes about as though debating whether to try for the door or dash through the window glass.
“How long has what been going on?” he asked weakly.
“Come, come! Let’s not spar. It isn’t necessary.” Nathan took his hands from the table edge and folded his arms. “You needn’t try to get up nerve to leap through the glass. I’m not going to hurt you!—I may be a poet but I’m not quite a fool.”
Si breathed easier. He sat up. They were a cheap, disheveled, foolish-looking pair, ranged there side by side, a cow of a woman and a bull of a man. Was there any reason why they should not seek each other’s embrace?