But, oh, if she had not quarrelled with Jimmy! If only they had not become bitter over the tailor's proposal. . . . She might marry the tailor. She could go to him in the morning and say—"Mr. Mayberry, I'll marry you this morning if you like." He would be glad. And he wasn't so ugly, either. His legs might be a little bowed and his chest flat, but Jimmy was too hard on ugly people. He was too proud of his own compact, strong body. She remembered the feel of him in her arms, so round and firm. Well, he wouldn't have her to put her arms around him any more— He'd have to get some other girl. . . .
Slow tears drenched her eyes. The lamp became a blurred sun, far away. The echoing walls of the rain shut her in. She slept.
Thud! Thud! Mrs. Jessop's palm struck the door. She did not rap for fear of waking Annie and Pearl in the next room. Delight sat up startled, yet only half awake. The lamp had burned itself out and a smell of charred wick hung in the air. She could dimly see the furniture by the grey glimmer at the window. . . . But why was she dressed? What was it all about? Mrs. Jessop softly thumped on the door again.
"Hurry up, there," her voice came thickly. "You've no time to spare. Open the door."
Delight sprang to her feet, fully conscious now, terribly afraid of angering Mrs. Jessop still further. She dragged the washstand from before the door, and timidly opened it. Her eyes, wild and mournful, stared out at the housekeeper.
"Phew, what a stink!" exclaimed Mrs. Jessop, and she
