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if he likes, and he daren't put his back up. That's drapery! And you
tell me to be contented. Would YOU be contented if you was a shop girl?"
She did not answer. She looked at him with distress in her brown eyes,
and he remained gloomily in possession of the field.
Presently he spoke. "I've been thinking," he said, and stopped.
She turned her face, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. There
was a light in her eyes that made the expression of them tender. Mr.
Hoopdriver had not looked in her face while he had talked. He had
regarded the grass, and pointed his remarks with redknuckled hands held
open and palms upwards. Now they hung limply over his knees.
"
"
"
"
"
Well?" she said.
I was thinking it this morning," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
Yes?"
Of course it's silly." "Well?"
It's like this. I'm twenty-three, about. I had my schooling all right
to fifteen, say. Well, that leaves me eight years behind.--Is it too
late? I wasn't so backward. I did algebra, and Latin up to auxiliary
verbs, and French genders. I got a kind of grounding."
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