THE LABYRINTHODON
chap I ever met. I never 'eard such talking. 'E ought to write a book. . . . It's a rum world, Ann, when a chap like that isn't 'ardly able to earn a living."
"It's 'is 'ealth," said Ann.
"I expect it is," said Kipps, and ceased to talk for a little while.
Then he spoke with deliberation, "Sea air might be the saving of 'im, Ann."
He glanced doubtfully at Ann, and she was looking at him even fondly.
"You think of other people a lot," said Ann. "I been looking at you sittin' there and thinking."
"I suppose I do. I suppose when one's 'appy one does."
"You do," said Ann.
"We shall be 'appy in that little 'ouse, Ann. Don't y' think?"
She met his eyes and nodded.
"I seem to see it," said Kipps, "sort of cosy like. 'Bout tea time and muffins, kettle on the 'ob, cat on the 'earthrug—We must get a cat, Ann—and you there. Eh?"
They regarded each other with appreciative eyes; and Kipps became irrelevant.
"I don't believe, Ann," he said, "I 'aven't kissed you not for 'arf an hour. Leastways not since we was in those caves."
For kissing had already ceased to be a matter of thrilling adventure for them.
Ann shook her head. "You be sensible and go on talking about Mr. Masterman," she said. . . .
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