It roused him from his dream. He shivered a little, closed the door,
bolted it and put up the chain, and turned, half sighing, to take up
his bedroom candle again. Then his heart stood still for a moment. A
figure--a girl's figure--was coming towards him from the kitchen stairs.
As she came into the dim light he saw that it was merely Mary Ann.
She looked half drowsed. Her cap was off, her hair tangled loosely over
her forehead. In her disarray she looked prettier than he had ever
remembered her. There was something provoking about the large, dreamy
eyes, the red lips that parted at the unexpected sight of him.
"Good heavens!" he cried. "Not gone to bed yet?"
"No, sir. I had to stay up to wash up a lot of crockery. The second floor
front had some friends to supper late. Missus says she won't stand it
again."
"Poor thing!" He patted her soft cheek--it grew hot and rosy under his
fingers, but was not withdrawn. Mary Ann made no sign of resentment. In
his mood of tenderness to all creation his rough words to her recurred to
him.
"You mustn't mind what I said about the matches," he murmured. "When I am
in a bad temper I say anything. Remember now for the future, will you?"
"Yessir."
Her face--its blushes flickered over strangely by the
candle-light--seemed to look up at him invitingly.
"That's a good girl." And bending down he kissed her on the lips.
"Good night," he murmured.
Mary Ann made some startled, gurgling sound in reply.
Five minutes afterwards Lancelot was in bed, denouncing himself as a
vulgar beast.
"I must have drunk too much whisky," he said to himself, angrily. "Good
heavens! Fancy sinking to Mary Ann. If Peter had only seen--There was
infinitely more poetry in that red-cheeked _Maedchen_, and yet I never--It
is true-there is something sordid about the atmosphere that subtly
permeates you, that drags you down to it. Mary Ann! A transpontine
drudge! whose lips are fresh from the coalman's and the butcher's.
Phaugh!"
The fancy seized hold of his imagination. He could not shake it off,
he could not sleep till he had got out of bed and sponged his lips
vigorously.
Meanwhile Mary Ann was lying on her bed, dressed, doing her best to keep
her meaningless, half-hysterical sobs from her mistress's keen ear.