to blame for upsetting his calculations. The woman followed his eyes.
"Yes … the lamp," she assented. "Something held my face up to it, just now, when I wanted to hide. It's like as if our souls were naked under it, and there is nothing to say."
"Eh? but there is. I tell you I've thought it out so often! I've thought it all out, or almost all; and that can't mean nothing." He cleared his throat. "I've made allowances, too" he began magnanimously.
But for the moment she was not listening. "Yes, yes …" She had turned her face aside and was gazing out into the darkness. "Look at the gas-jets, Willy—in the fog. What do they remind you of? That Christmas-tree … after Dick was born…. Don't you remember how he mistook the oranges on it for lanterns and wanted to blow them out … how he kicked to get at them …"
"It's odd: I was thinking of Dick, just now, when you—when you spoke to me. The lamp put me in mind of him. I was wondering what it cost. We have nothing like it at home. Of course, if I bought one for the shop, people would talk—'drawing attention,' they'd say, after what has happened. But I thought that Dick, perhaps … when he grows up and enters the business … perhaps he might propose such a thing, and then I shan't say no. I should
