Part 37 (2/2)

Then he became aware of changes--improvements. She was as pretty as she had promised to be, her blue eyes as dark as his memory of them, and with a quick, high colour, but now Kipps by several inches was the taller again. She was dressed in a simple grey dress that showed her very clearly as a straight and healthy little woman, and her hat was Sundayfied with pink flowers. She looked soft and warm and welcoming.

Her face was alight to Kipps with her artless gladness at their encounter.

”It's Art Kipps!” she said.

”Rather,” said Kipps.

”You got your holidays?”

It flashed upon Kipps that Sid had not told her of his great fortune.

Much regretful meditation upon Sid's behaviour had convinced him that he himself was to blame for exasperating boastfulness in that affair, and this time he took care not to err in that direction. He erred in the other.

”I'm taking a bit of a 'oliday,” he said.

”So'm I,” said Ann.

”You been for a walk?” asked Kipps.

Ann showed him a bunch of wayside flowers.

”It's a long time since I seen you, Ann. Why, 'ow long must it be?

Seven--eight years nearly.”

”It don't do to count,” said Ann.

”It don't look like it,” said Kipps, with the slightest emphasis.

”You got a moustache,” said Ann, smelling her flowers and looking at him over them, not without admiration.

Kipps blushed....

Presently they came to the bifurcation of the roads.

”I'm going down this way to mother's cottage,” said Ann.

”I'll come a bit your way if I may.”

In New Romney social distinctions that are primary realities in Folkestone are absolutely non-existent, and it seemed quite permissible for him to walk with Ann, for all that she was no more than a servant.

They talked with remarkable ease to one another, they slipped into a vein of intimate reminiscence in the easiest manner. In a little while Kipps was amazed to find Ann and himself at this:

”You r'ember that half sixpence? What you cut for me?”

”Yes.”

”I got it still.”

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