you've seen _they're_ not ladies!" She mildly jested, but with an
intention. "One gets used to things, and there are employments I should
have hated much more." She had the finest conception of the beauty of
not at least boring him. To whine, to count up her wrongs, was what a
barmaid or a shop-girl would do, and it was quite enough to sit there
like one of these.

"If you had had another employment," he remarked after a moment, "we
might never have become acquainted."

"It's highly probable--and certainly not in the same way." Then, still
with her heap of gold in her lap and something of the pride of it in her
manner of holding her head, she continued not to move--she only smiled at
him. The evening had thickened now; the scattered lamps were red; the
Park, all before them, was full of obscure and ambiguous life; there were
other couples on other benches whom it was impossible not to see, yet at
whom it was impossible to look. "But I've walked so much out of my way
with you only just to show you that--that"--with this she paused; it was
not after all so easy to express--"that anything you may have thought is
perfectly true."

"Oh I've thought a tremendous lot!" her companion laughed. "Do you mind
my smoking?"

"Why should I? You always smoke _there_."

"At your place? Oh yes, but here it's different."

"No," she said as he lighted a cigarette, "that's just what it isn't.
It's quite the same."