“That’s what always happens—just as I’ve almost got him,” he said. “Here’s your sixpence, Mary. But you've only got it thanks to that brute of a boy. They oughtn’t to be allowed to bowl hoops here———”
“Oughtn’t to be allowed to bowl hoops! My dear Ralph, what nonsense!”
“You always say that,” he complained; “and it isn’t nonsense. What’s the point of having a garden if one can’t watch birds in it? The street does all right for hoops. And if children can’t be trusted in the streets, their mothers should keep them at home.”
Mary made no answer to this remark, but frowned.
She leant back on the seat and looked about her at the great houses breaking the soft grey-blue sky with their chimneys.
“Ah, well,” she said, “London’s a fine place to live in. I believe I could sit and watch people all day long. I like my fellow-creatures. . .”
Ralph sighed impatiently.
“Yes, I think so, when you come to know them,” she added, as if his disagreement had been spoken.
“That’s just when I don’t like them,” he replied. “Still, I don’t see why you shouldn’t cherish that illusion, if it pleases you.” He spoke without much vehemence of agreement or disagreement. He seemed chilled.
“Wake up, Ralph! You're half asleep!” Mary cried, turning and pinching his sleeve. “What have you been doing with yourself? Moping? Working? Despising the world, as usual?”
As he merely shook his head, and filled his pipe, she went on:
“It’s a bit of a pose, isn’t it?”
“Not more than most things,” he said.
“Well,” Mary remarked, “I’ve a great deal to say to you, but I must go on—we have a committee.” She rose, but hesitated, looking down upon him rather gravely.
