lf a pint,' said Liza.

'Cheese it,' answered Jim. 'You can do with all you can get, I know.'

At closing time they left and walked down the broad road which led
homewards.

'Let's 'ave a little sit dahn,' said Jim, pointing to an empty bench
between two trees.

'Na, it's gettin' lite; I want ter be 'ome.'

'It's such a fine night, it's a pity ter go in already;' and he drew
her unresisting towards the seat. He put his arm round her waist.

'Un'and me, villin!' she said, in apt misquotation of the melodrama,
but Jim only laughed, and she made no effort to disengage herself.

They sat there for a long while in silence; the beer had got to Liza's
head, and the warm night air filled her with a double intoxication.
She felt the arm round her waist, and the big, heavy form pressing
against her side; she experienced again the curious sensation as if
her heart were about to burst, and it choked her--a feeling so
oppressive and painful it almost made her feel sick. Her hands began
to tremble, and her breathing grew rapid, as though she were
suffocating. Almost fainting, she swayed over towards the man, and a
cold shiver ran through her from top to toe. Jim bent over her, and,
taking her in both arms, he pressed his lips to hers in a long,
passionate kiss. At last, panting for breath, she turned her head away
and groaned.

Then they again sat for a long while in silence, Liza full of a
strange happiness, feeling as if she could laugh aloud hysterically,
but restrained by the calm and silence of the night. Close behind
struck a church clock--one.

'Bless my soul!' said Liza, starting, 'there's one o'clock. I must get
'ome.'

'It's so nice out 'ere; do sty, Liza.' He pressed her closer to him.
'Yer know, Liza, I love yer--fit ter kill.'

'Na, I can't stay; come on.' She got up from the seat, and pulled him
up too. 'Come on,' she said.

Without speaking they went along, and there was no one to be seen
either in front or behind them. He had not got his arm round her now,
and they were walking side by side, slightly separated. It was Liza
who spoke first.

'You'd better go dahn the Road and by the church an' git into Vere
Street the other end, an' I'll go through the passage, so thet no one
shouldn't see us comin' together,' she spoke almost in a whisper.

'Arright, Liza,' he answered, 'I'll do just as you tell me.'

They came to the passage of which Liza spoke; it was a narrow way
between blank walls, the backs o