She was seven years older and greatly altered; yet for the moment it seemed to him that she had not changed at all. "Ann!" he said, and she, with a lifting note, "It's Art Kipps!"
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.
