"Don't you believe it, 'En," she broke out. "'E 's just usin' you the way Pop does me. An' I ain't but a trained monkey to Pop. 'E don't treat me 'uman. I can't even talk to no one. It 's a dawg's life; that 's w'at it is."
He shook his head. "He 's scared you 'll get away from him."
"'Ow get away from 'im?"
"Well, if you was to get married—see? I guess he 's scared you 'll meet some one that way. That 's the way it was with Lally Dulian an' her maw."
"I got a right to get married, ain't I?"
"You sure have, Milly," he said gently.
There was something in his voice that caught her ear. She looked up at him with a sidelong glance. His thin features, yellowed by the paints, wore the blank look that his profession had made second nature to him; but his eyes, thoughtful and melancholy, fixed on vacancy, gave his face an expression of mute wistfulness that was almost ludicrous. "I say!" she laughed. "It ain't as bad as that, is it?"
He turned to find her apparently mocking him with her amusement. He replied with an attempted smile that was little better than a writhing of the lips; "I guess I 'm a good deal of a joke, ain't I? … Oh, I know," he went on. "It 's paint yer face an' play the fool, fer mine. I ain't kickin'. They 're right, all right."
He made as if to rise. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "W'at 're you talkin' about any'ow?"
