Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I'll brush it and
keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, but it doesn't
excuse you looking like a sweep."
"Do I look like a sweep, then?"
"Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for you!" she cried impulsively, and
took Dick's hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to kiss--she was the
only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not too proud for a little
pity now. She stood up to go.
"Nothing 'o that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite easy when
you get shaved, and some clothes."
He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She passed
behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and ran away as
swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the Melancolia.
"To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar," she said to herself, "after all he's done
to me and all! Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved he wouldn't be so
bad to look at, but . . . Oh them Beetons, how shameful they've treated him! I
know Beeton's wearing his shirt on his back today just as well as if I'd aired
it. Tomorrow, I'll see . . . I wonder if he has much of his own. It might be
worth more than the bar--I wouldn't have to do any work--and just as
respectable as if no one knew.
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