ing. He looks round into her face. In
spite of make-up it has a queer, unholy, touching beauty.

YOUNG OFF. [With an outburst] No; we don't only love ourselves;
there is more. I can't explain, but there's something great; there's
kindness--and--and-----

[The shouting of newspaper boys grows louder and their cries,
passionately vehement, clash into each other and obscure each
word. His head goes up to listen; her hand tightens within his
arm--she too is listening. The cries come nearer, hoarser, more
shrill and clamorous; the empty moonlight outside seems suddenly
crowded with figures, footsteps, voices, and a fierce distant
cheering. "Great victory--great victory! Official! British!
'Eavy defeat of the 'Uns! Many thousand prisoners! 'Eavy
defeat!" It speeds by, intoxicating, filling him with a fearful
joy; he leans far out, waving his cap and cheering like a
madman; the night seems to flutter and vibrate and answer. He
turns to rush down into the street, strikes against something
soft, and recoils. The GIRL stands with hands clenched, and
face convulsed, panting. All confused with the desire to do
something, he stoops to kiss her hand. She snatches away her
fingers, sweeps up the notes he has put down, and holds them out
to him.]

GIRL. Take them--I will not haf your English money--take them.

Suddenly she tears them across, twice, thrice, lets the bits.
flutter to the floor, and turns her back on him. He stands
looking at her leaning against the plush-covered table, her head
down, a dark figure in a dark room, with the moonlight
sharpening her outline. Hardly a moment he stays, then makes
for the door. When he is gone, she still stands there, her chin
on her breast, with the sound in her ears of cheering, of
hurrying feet, and voices crying: "'Eavy Defeat!" stands, in the
centre of a pattern made by the fragments of the torn-up notes,
staring out unto the moonlight, seeing not this hated room and
the hated Square outside, but a German orchard, and herself, a
little girl, plucking apples, a big dog beside her; and a
hundred other pictures, such as the drowning see. Then she
sinks down on the floor, lays her forehead on the dusty carpet,
and presses her body to it. Mechanically, she sweeps together
the scattered fragments of n