"Beast," said Pearl calmly. "Thinks he's lord of the manor here. You ought to hear Edwin's opinion of him. . . . Have a toffee drop, Annie, and let's reely get to bed."
Delight and Jimmy were sitting on the sagging seat of the old sofa in the third-floor hallway. It was May but a gale was shaking the windows and a flurry of snow dimmed the panes. The deep roar of the lake made the indoors seem cozier. A good fire burned in the Quebec heater. One of the hands of the dye works had fallen in a vat that day, and his clothes hung by the stove on two chairs, giving off vapour and a strange pungent odour.
The two were happy.
Delight's body ached from a hard Saturday's work, but now it was relaxed in Jimmy's gentle embrace, her hands lay, resigned and warm in his, every now and again his lips just touched her hair.
"Darling girl," he murmured, "dearest girl in the world."
"Oo—Jimmy, isn't that a funny smell off them clothes?"
"It is queer. Poor Patterson was an awful colour when he was fished out. . . . Isn't it nice here, just you and me? So quiet like?"
"H'm. I can hear your heart, Jimmy."
"It doesn't beat for anyone but you, Delight."
"Then, it's saying—Delight—isn't it? De-light. De-light—De-light."
"You're not fretting for May now, are you?"
"Not so much. I'm getting used, and I like my new job waiting on the swells' tables."
Jimmy was hurt. "Ah, but it takes you away from me.
