Hilary had already perceived that he had made an awkward, even dangerous, proposal; short, however, of giving her money, the idea of which offended his sense of delicacy, there was no way out of it. He said brusquely: “Come along!” The little model rose obediently. Hilary noticed that her boots were split, and this--as though he had seen someone strike a child--so moved his indignation that he felt no more qualms, but rather a sort of pleasant glow, such as will come to the most studious man when he levels a blow at the conventions. He looked down at his companion--her eyes were lowered; he could not tell at all what she was thinking of. “This is what I was going to speak to you about,” he said: “I don't like that house you're in; I think you ought to be somewhere else. What do you say?” “Yes, Mr. Dallison.” “You'd better make a change, I think; you could find another room, couldn't you?” The little model answered as before: “Yes, Mr. Dallison.” “I'm afraid that Hughs is-a dangerous sort of fellow.” “He's a funny man.” “Does he annoy you?” Her expression baffled Hilary; there seemed a sort of slow enjoyment in it. She looked up knowingly. “I don't mind him--he won't hurt me. Mr. Dallison, do you think blue or green?” Hilary answered shortly: “Bluey-green.” She clasped her hands, changed her feet with a hop, and went on walking as before. “Listen to me,” said Hilary; “has Mrs. Hughs been talking to you about her husband?” The little model smiled again. “She goes on,” she said. Hilary bit his lips. “Mr. Dallison, please--about my hat?” “What about your hat?” “Would you like me to get a large one or a small one?” “For God's sake,” answered Hilary, “a small one--no feathers.” “Oh!” “Can you attend to me a minute? Have either Hughs or Mrs. Hughs spoken to you about--coming to my house, about--me?” The little model's face remained impassive, but by the movement of her fingers Hilary saw that she was attending now. “I don't care what they say.” Hilary looked away; an angry flush slowly mounted in his face. With surprising suddenness the little model said: “Of course, if I was a lady, I might mind!” “Don't talk like that!” said Hilary; “every woman is a lady.” The stolidity of the girl's face, more mocking far than any smile, warned him of the cheapness of this verbiage. “If I was a lady,” she repeated simply, “I shouldn't be livin' there, should I?” “No,” said Hilary; “and you had better not go on living there, anyway.” The little model making no answer, Hilary did not quite know what to say. It was becoming apparent to him that she viewed the situation with a very different outlook from himself, and that he did not understand that outlook. He felt thoroughly at sea, conscious that this girl's life contained a thousand things he did not know, a thousand points of view he did not share.