KIPPS
"I didn't neither," said Ann, with thoughtful eyes on the water.
For a time Kipps' mind was occupied by the prettiness of her thinking face. A faint, tremulous network of lights reflected from the ripples of a passing duck, played subtly over her cheek and faded away.
Ann reflected. "I s'pose things 'ad to be," she said.
Kipps mused. "It's curious 'ow ever I got on to be engaged to 'er."
"She wasn't suited to you," said Ann.
"Suited. No fear! That's jest it. 'Ow did it come about?"
"I expect she led you on," said Ann.
Kipps was half-minded to assent. Then he had a twinge of conscience. "It wasn't that, Ann," he said. "It's curious. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that. I don't recollect. . . . No. . . . Life's jolly rum; that's one thing any'ow. And I suppose I'm a rum sort of feller. I get excited sometimes, and then I don't seem to care what I do. That's about what it was reely. Still———"
They meditated, Kipps with his arms folded and pulling at his scanty moustache. Presently a faint smile came over his face.
"We'll get a nice little 'ouse out 'Ithe way."
"It's 'omelier than Folkestone," said Ann.
"Jest a nice little 'ouse," said Kipps. "There's Hughenden, of course. But that's let. Besides being miles too big. And I wouldn't live in Folkestone again some'ow—not for anything."
"I'd like to 'ave a 'ouse of my own," said Ann.
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