heek against the back of Alf's hand. She did not want any silly
nonsense, she told herself; and the tears came into her eyes, and her
nose seemed pinched and tickling with the cold at the mere idea of any
nonsense; but she could not help longing with the most intense longing
to press her cheek against the back of Alf's hand. That was all. She
wanted nothing more. But that desire thrilled her. She felt that if it
might be granted she would be content, altogether happy. She wanted so
little!

And as if Alf too had been thinking of somebody nearer to him than
Jenny, he began:

"I don't know if you've ever thought at all about me, Em. But your
saying what you've done ... about yourself ... it's made me think a bit.
I'm all on my own now--have been for years; but the way I live isn't
good for anyone. It's a fact it's not. I mean to say, my rooms that I've
got ... they're not big enough to swing a cat in; and the way the old
girl at my place serves up the meals is a fair knock-out, if you notice
things like I do. If I think of her, and then about the way you do
things, it gives me the hump. Everything you do's so nice. But with
her--the plates have still got bits of yesterday's mustard on them, and
all fluffy from the dishcloth...."

"Not washed prop'ly." Emmy interestedly remarked; "that's what that is."

"Exackly. And the meat's raw inside. Cooks it too quickly. And when I
have a bloater for my breakfast--I'm partial to a bloater--it's black
outside, as if it was done in the cinders; and then inside--well, I like
them done all through, like any other man. Then I can't get her to get
me gammon rashers. She will get these little tiddy rashers, with little
white bones in them. Why, while you're cutting them out the bacon gets
cold. You may think I'm fussy ... fiddly with my food. I'm not, really;
only I like it...."

"Of course you do," Emmy said. "She's not interested, that's what it is.
She thinks anything's food; and some people don't mind at all what they
eat. They don't notice."

"No. I _do_. If you go to a restaurant you get it different. You get
more of it, too. Well, what with one thing and another I've got very
fed up with Madame Bucks. It's all dirty and half baked. There's great
holes in the carpet of my sitting-room--holes you could put your foot
through. And I've done that, as a matter of fact. Put my foot through
and nearly gone over. _Should_ have done, only for the table. Well, I
mean to say ... you can'