"Yes, you do. He keeps the shop in the High Street where you get your 'ankychiefs and collars. You bought a collar off of him the other day. He told me." "By Jove, so I did. Of course I know Mr. Robinson. What about him?" "Well--_he's_ what I call a _handsome_ man." "Oh." He paused. "Would you love me more if I were as handsome as Mr. Robinson?" "No. Not a bit more. I couldn't. I'd love you just the same if you were as ugly as poor Uncle. There, what more do you want?" "What, indeed? Rose, how much have you seen of Mr. Robinson?" "How much? Well--I see him every time I go into his shop. And every Sunday evening when I go to church. And sometimes he comes and has supper with us. 'E plays and 'e sings beautiful." "The devil he does! Well, did he ever take you anywhere?" "Once--he took me to Madame Tussaws; and once to the Colonial Exhibition; and once----" "You minx. That'll do. Has he ever given you anything?" "He gave me Joey." "I always knew there was something wrong about that dog." "And last Christmas he gave me a scented sashy from the shop." "Never--anything else?" "Never anything else." She smiled subtly. "I wouldn't let 'im." "Well, well. And I suppose you consider Mr. Robinson a better dressed man than I am?" "Yes, he was always a beautiful dresser. He makes it what you might call 'is hobby." "Of course Mr. Robinson wants you to marry him?" "Yes. Leastways he says so." "And I suppose your uncle and aunt want you to marry him?" "They were more for it than I was." "Rose--he's got a bigger income than I have." "He never told me what his income is." "But you know?" "I dare say Uncle does." "Better dressed--decidedly more handsome----" "Well--he _is_ that." "A bigger income. Rose, do you want Mr. Robinson to be found dead in his shop--horribly dead--among the collars and the handkerchiefs--spoiling them, and--not--looking--handsome--any more?" "Oh, Mr. Tanqueray!" "Then don't talk about him." He turned his face to hers. She put up her hands and drew his head down into the hollow of her breasts that were warm with the sun on them. "Rose," he said, "if you stroke my hair too much it'll come off, like Joey's. Would you love me if my hair came off?" She kissed his hair. "When did you begin to love me, Rose?" "I don't know. I think it must have been when you were ill." "I see. When I was bowled over on my back and couldn't struggle. What _made_ you love me?" She was silent a long time, smiling softly to herself. "I think it was because--because--because you were so kind to Joey." "So you thought I would be kind to you?" "I didn't--I didn't think at all. I just----" "So did I," said Tanqueray. VII