Next morning on her way to the factory Liza came up with Sally. They were both of them rather stale and bedraggled after the day's outing; their fringes were ragged and untidily straying over their foreheads, their back hair, carelessly tied in a loose knot, fell over their necks and threatened completely to come down. Liza had not had time to put her hat on, and was holding it in her hand. Sally's was pinned on sideways, and she had to bash it down on her head every now and then to prevent its coming off. Cinderella herself was not more transformed than they were; but Cinderella even in her rags was virtuously tidy and patched up, while Sally had a great tear in her shabby dress, and Liza's stockings were falling over her boots.
'Wot cheer, Sal!' said Liza, when she caught her up.
'Oh, I 'ave got sich a 'ead on me this mornin'!' she remarked, turning round a pale face: heavily lined under the eyes.
'I don't feel too chirpy neither,' said Liza, sympathetically.
'I wish I 'adn't drunk so much beer,' added Sally, as a pang shot through her head.
'Oh, you'll be arright in a bit,' said Liza. Just then they heard the clock strike eight, and they began to run so that they might not miss getting their tokens and thereby their day's pay; they turned into the street at the end of which was the factory, and saw half a hundred women running like themselves to get in before it was too late.
All the morning Liza worked in a dead-and-alive sort of fashion, her head like a piece of lead with electric shocks going through it when she moved, and her tongue and mouth hot and dry. At last lunch-time came.
'Come on, Sal,' said Liza, 'I'm goin' to 'ave a glass o' bitter. I can't stand this no longer.'
So they entered the public-house opposite, and in one draught finished their pots. Liza gave a long sigh of relief.
'That bucks you up, don't it?'
'I was dry! I ain't told yer yet, Liza, 'ave I? 'E got it aht last night.'
'Who d'yer mean?'
'Why, 'Arry. 'E spit it aht at last.'
'Arst yer ter nime the day?' said Liza, smiling.
'Thet's it.'
'And did yer?'
'Didn't I jest!' answered Sally, with some emphasis. 'I always told yer I'd git off before you.'
'Yus!' said Liza, thinking.
'Yer know, Liza, you'd better tike Tom; 'e ain't a bad sort.' She was quite patronizing.
'I'm goin' ter tike 'oo I like; an' it ain't nobody's business but mine.'
'Arright, Liza, don't get shirty over it; I don't mean no offence.'
'What d'yer say it for then?'
'Well, I thought as seeing as yer'd gone aht with 'im yesterday thet yer meant ter after all.'
''E wanted ter tike me; I didn't arsk 'im.'
'Well, I didn't arsk my 'Arry, either.'
'I never said yer did,' replied Liza.
'Oh, you've got the 'ump, you 'ave!' finished Sally, rather angrily.
The beer had restored Liza: she went back to work without a headache, and, except for a slight languor, feeling no worse for the previous day's debauch. As she worked on she began going over in her mind the events of the preceding day, and she found entwined in all her thoughts the burly person of Jim Blakeston. She saw him walking by her side in the Forest, presiding over the meals, playing the concertina, singing, joking, and finally, on the drive back, she felt the heavy form by her side, and the big, rough hand holding hers, while Tom's arm was round her waist. Tom! That was the first time he had entered her mind, and he sank into a shadow beside the other. Last of all she remembered the walk home from the pub, the good nights, and the rapid footsteps as Jim caught her up, and the kiss. She blushed and looked up quickly to see whether any of the girls were looking at her; she could not help thinking of that moment when he took her in his arms; she still felt the roughness of his beard pressing on her mouth. Her heart seemed to grow larger in her breast, and she caught for breath as she threw back her head as if to receive his lips again. A shudder ran through her from the vividness of the thought.
'Wot are you shiverin' for, Liza?' asked one of the girls. 'You ain't cold.'
'Not much,' answered Liza, blushing awkwardly on her meditations being broken into. 'Why, I'm sweatin' so—I'm drippin' wet.'
'I expect yer caught cold in the Faurest yesterday.'
'I see your mash as I was comin' along this mornin'.'
Liza stared a little.
'I ain't got one, 'oo d'yer mean, ay?'
'Yer only Tom, of course. 'E did look washed aht. Wot was yer doin' with 'im yesterday?'
''E ain't got nothin' ter do with me, 'e ain't.'
'Garn, don't you tell me!'
The bell rang, and, throwing over their work, the girls trooped off, and after chattering in groups outside the factory gates for a while, made their way in different directions to their respective homes. Liza and Sally went along together.
'I sy, we are comin' aht!' cried Sally, seeing the advertisement of a play being acted at the neighbouring theatre.
'I should like ter see thet!' said Liza, as they stood arm-in-arm in front of the flaring poster. It represented two rooms and a passage in between; in one room a dead man was lying on the floor, while two others were standing horror-stricken, listening to a youth who was in the passage, knocking at the door.
'You see, they've 'killed im,' said Sally, excitedly.
'Yus, any fool can see thet! an' the one ahtside, wot's 'e doin' of?'
'Ain't 'e beautiful? I'll git my 'Arry ter tike me, I will. I should like ter see it. 'E said 'e'd tike me to the ply.'
They strolled on again, and Liza, leaving Sally, made her way to her mother's. She knew she must pass Jim's house, and wondered whether she would see him. But as she walked along the street she saw Tom coming the opposite way; with a sudden impulse she turned back so as not to meet him, and began walking the way she had come. Then thinking herself a fool for what she had done, she turned again and walked towards him. She wondered if she had seen her or noticed her movement, but when she looked down the street he was nowhere to be seen; he had not caught sight of her, and had evidently gone in to see a mate in one or other of the houses. She quickened her step, and passing the house where lived Jim, could not help looking up; he was standing at the door watching her, with a smile on his lips.
'I didn't see yer, Mr. Blakeston,' she said, as he came up to her.
'Didn't yer? Well, I knew yer would; an' I was witin' for yer ter look up. I see yer before ter-day.'
'Na, when?'
'I passed be'ind yer as you an' thet other girl was lookin' at the advertisement of thet ply.'
'I never see yer.'
'Na, I know yer didn't. I 'ear yer say, you says: "I should like to see thet."'
'Yus, an' I should too.'
'Well, I'll tike yer.'
'You?'
'Yus; why not?'
'I like thet; wot would yer missus sy?'
'She wouldn't know.'
'But the neighbours would!'
'No they wouldn't, no one 'd see us.'
He was speaking in a low voice so that people could not hear.
'You could meet me ahtside the theatre,' he went on.
'Na,