"Still far from it, I assure you."
"Not a' that far, I assure you. I've got my own sort o' continuity, back your life! Good as yours, any day. An' if your sister there comes ter me for a bit o' cunt an' tenderness, she knows what she's after. She's been in my bed afore: which you 'aven't, thank the Lord, with your continuity." There was a dead pause, before he added: "—Eh, I don't wear me breeches arse-forrards. An' if I get a windfall, I thank my stars. A man gets a lot of enjoyment out o' that lass theer, which is more than anybody gets out o' th' likes o' you. Which is a pity, for you might 'appen a' bin a good apple, 'stead of a handsome crab. Women like you needs proper graftin'."
He was looking at her with an odd, flickering smile, faintly sensual and appreciative.
"And men like you," she said, "ought to be segregated: justifying their own vulgarity and selfish lust."
"Ay, ma'am! It's a mercy there's a few men left like me. But you deserve what you get: to be left severely alone."
Hilda had risen and gone to the door. He rose and took his coat from the peg.
"I can find my way quite well alone," she said.
"I doubt you can't," he replied easily.
They tramped in ridiculous file down the lane again, in silence. An owl still hooted. He knew he ought to shoot it.
The car stood untouched, a little dewy. Hilda got in and started the engine. The other two waited.
"All I mean," she said from her entrenchment, "is that I doubt if you'll find it's been worth it, either of you!"
"One man's meat is another man's poison," he said, out of the darkness. "But it's meat an' drink to me."
The lights flared out.
"Don't make me wait in the morning, Connie."
"No, I won't. Good night!"
The car rose slowly on to the highroad, then slid swiftly away, leaving the night silent.
Connie timidly took his arm, and they went down the lane. He did not speak. At length she drew him to a standstill.
"Kiss me!" she murmured.
"Nay, wait a bit! Let me simmer down," he said.
