There was not the slightest appearance in her of the air of a rustic flirt waiting for a lover, still less of anything more objectionable. Her look was serious, full of resistance and even of defiance, as if the encounter was against her will, though it was necessary that it should be. “Yes, sir,” she said shortly, “you were not mistaken, and it is me.”
“And what are you doing here?”
“Nothing that isn’t right,” said Lizzie. “I’m living with my grandmother, as anyone will tell you, and working at my trade.”
“Well—that is all right,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“I don’t suppose that you sought me out just for that, sir—to give me your approbation,” the girl said quickly.
“For which you don’t care at all,” he said, with a half laugh.
“No more than you care for what I’m doing, whether it’s good or bad.”
“Well,” he said, “I suppose so far as that goes we are about even, Lizzie: though I, for one, should be sorry to hear any harm of you. Do you ever hear anything—of your mistress—that was?”
She gave him a keen look. All the time her hands were busy with a little pile of matchboxes, the pretence which was to explain his presence had anyone appeared. “She is—living, if that is what you mean,” Lizzie said.
“Living! Oh yes, I suppose so—at her age. Is she—where she was?”
Lizzie looked at him, again investigating his face keenly, and he at her. They were like two antagonists in a duel, each on his guard, each eagerly observant of every point at which he could have an advantage. At last, “Where was that, sir?” she said. “I don’t know where you heard of her last.”
Dick made no answer. It was some moments before he spoke at all. Then, “Is she in England?” he said.
“I’m not at liberty, sir, to say where she is.”
“You know, of course. I can see that in your face. Is she—But perhaps you don’t intend to answer any question I put to you.”
“I think not, sir,” said Lizzie firmly. “What would be the good? She don’t want you, nor you—”
“Nor I her: it is true,” he said. His face became very grave, almost stern. “I have little reason to wish to know. Still you must be aware that misery is the end of such a way of life.”
“Oh, you need give yourself no trouble about that,” cried Lizzie, with something like scorn; “she is a deal better off and more thought upon than ever she would have been if—”
“Poor girl!” he said. These words and the tone in which they were spoken stopped the quick little angry speech that was on Lizzie’s lips. She wavered for a moment, then recovered herself.
“If you please,” she said, “to take your matches, sir. It ain’t general for gentlemen like you to come into granny’s shop: and we think a deal of little things here. It is not as if we were—on the other side.”
He laughed with a sort of fierce ridicule that offended the girl. “So—I might be supposed to be coming after you,” he said.
She flung the matches to him across the counter. “There may be more difference here than there was there; but a gentleman, if he is a gentleman, will be civil wherever he is.”
“You are quite right,” said Dick, recovering himself, “and I spoke like a fool. For all that you say, misery is the end of such a life; and if I could help it I should not like her to come to want.”
“Oh!” said Lizzie, with exasperation, stamping her foot. “Want yourself! You are more like to come to it than she is. I could show you in a moment—I could just let you see—” Here she paused, and faltered, and grew red, meeting his eyes. He did not ask any further questions. He had grown pale as she grew red. Their looks exchanged a rapid communication, in which neither Lizzie’s reluctance to speak nor his hesitation in asking was of any avail. He put down the sixpence which he had in his hand upon the counter, and went out into the night in a dumb confusion of mind, as if he had received a blow.
Here, breathing the same air, seeing the same sights, within reach! He went a little further on in the darkness, not knowing where, nor caring, in the bewilderment of the shock which had come to him unawares, and suddenly in the dark was aware of a range of lighted windows which seemed to hang high in the air—the windows of the Elms appearing over the high garden wall. He went along towards the house mechanically, and only stopped when his shoulder rubbed against the bricks, near the spot where he had seen Lizzie come out, as he walked past. The lights moved about from window to window; the house seemed full of movement and life; and within the wall there was a sound of conversation and laughter. Did he recognise the voices, or any one among them? He did not say
