In the centre of the lane a row of elm-trees displayed their gnarled, knotted roots. Human beings were seated there, whose matted hair clung round their tired faces. Their gaunt limbs were clothed in rags; each had a stick, and some sort of dirty bundle tied to it. They were asleep. On a bench beyond, two toothless old women sat, moving their eyes from side to side, and a crimson-faced woman was snoring. Under the next tree a Cockney youth and his girl were sitting side by side-pale young things, with loose mouths, and hollow cheeks, and restless eyes. Their arms were enlaced; they were silent. A little farther on two young men in working clothes were looking straight before them, with desperately tired faces. They, too, were silent. On the last bench of all Hilary came on the little model, seated slackly by herself. CHAPTER X THE TROUSSEAU This the first time these two had each other at large, was clearly not a comfortable event for either of them. The girl blushed, and hastily got off her seat. Hilary, who raised his hat and frowned, sat down on it. “Don't get up,” he said; “I want to talk to you.” The little model obediently resumed her seat. A silence followed. She had on the old brown skirt and knitted jersey, the old blue-green tam-o'-shanter cap, and there were marks of weariness beneath her eyes. At last Hilary remarked: “How are you getting on?” The little model looked at her feet. “Pretty well, thank you, Mr. Dallison.” “I came to see you yesterday.” She slid a look at him which might have meant nothing or meant much, so perfect its shy stolidity. “I was out,” she said, “sitting to Miss Boyle.” “So you have some work?” “It's finished now.” “Then you're only getting the two shillings a day from Mr. Stone?” She nodded. “H'm!” The unexpected fervour of this grunt seemed to animate the little model. “Three and sixpence for my rent, and breakfast costs threepence nearly--only bread-and-butter--that's five and two; and washing's always at least tenpence--that's six; and little things last week was a shilling--even when I don't take buses--seven; that leaves five shillings for my dinners. Mr. Stone always gives me tea. It's my clothes worries me.” She tucked her feet farther beneath the seat, and Hilary refrained from looking down. “My hat is awful, and I do want some---” She looked Hilary in the face for the first time. “I do wish I was rich.” “I don't wonder.” The little model gritted her teeth, and, twisting at her dirty gloves, said: “Mr. Dallison, d'you know the first thing I'd buy if I was rich?” “No.” “I'd buy everything new on me from top to toe, and I wouldn't ever wear any of these old things again.” Hilary got up: “Come with me now, and buy everything new from top to toe.” “Oh!”