KIPPS
try—quite vainly—to write stories," she said. "One must do something. I don't know whether I shall ever do any good—at that—anyhow. It seems so hopeless. And, of course, one must study the popular taste. But now my brother has gone to London, I get a lot of leisure."
"I seen your brother, 'aven't I?"
"He came to the class once or twice. Very probably you have. He's gone to London to pass his examinations and become a solicitor. And then, I suppose, he'll have a chance. Not much, perhaps, even then. But he's luckier than I am."
"You got your classes and things."
"They ought to satisfy me. But they don't. I suppose I'm ambitious. We both are. And we hadn't much of a springboard." She glanced over his shoulder at the cramped little garden with an air of reference in her gesture.
"I should think you could do anything if you wanted to," said Kipps.
"As a matter of fact I can't do anything I want to."
"You done a good deal."
"What?"
"Well, didn't you pass one of these here University things?"
"Oh! I matriculated!"
"I should think I was no end of a swell if I did, I know that."
"Mr. Kipps, do you know how many people matriculate into London University every year?"
"How many then?"
202
