Noble in Reason by Phyllis Bentley Page B

present, crouching under one of the shiny black apron covers which protected the seats. I began to unhook another covering and to pour off the waterwhich had accumulated in its folds, when the woman cried out cheerfully:
    â€œCome and sit by me, dear! We shall be warmer together!”
    Blushing and disconcerted, but unable from the politeness I made such a point of practising to refuse, I edged in beside her, and received a shock of alarm followed by a tingle of excitement, for her brassy hair and rouged cheeks—rouge was then worn only by the disreputable—together with a certain cheap gaudiness in her dress and her heavy scent, proclaimed even to my innocence that she was “one of those,” a woman of the streets in fact, against whom Henry had sternly warned me. The lurchings of the bus threw us against each other and necessitated apologies from time to time; she called me
dearie
in the Cockney style, nestled up to me, threaded her arm through mine and putting her head on one side smiled up into my eyes. All this seemed to me part of my emancipation from the narrow milieu of Hudley, and I quite preened myself on my advance towards the freedom of manhood.
    The conductor now came clattering upstairs; he was rather a surly fellow, or perhaps just vexed out of his normal cheerfulness by his late hour of work at the end of a long week, or by his need to come out into the rain to seek our fares. I paid promptly; but the woman beside me, drawing out a very shabby purse, scrabbled about in it to find coins in a manner which revealed, to the conductor doubtless as well as myself, that she had not the requisite fare. The conductor clicked his tongue and exhorted her to come along, come along, with some impatience; the woman said she had mounted the bus later than she had; the conductor on principle contradicted her; a warm argument ensued and it seemed likely that my companion would be put off the bus. I was aware, as I say, of the view taken of such women by my family, and on that very account I felt a strong, almost hysterical sympathy with her, as a pariah, an outcast from the kind of society I particularlydespised. This feeling was strengthened by my uncomfortable realization that the conductor might not have thought to climb the stairs on such a night and the woman might have escaped his notice and not been called on to pay her fare, if my arrival had not called his attention to the upper deck. I therefore drew out the necessary coppers from my pocket in a secret manner and suddenly thrust them behind my companion’s shoulder into the conductor’s hand, blushing the while. He took them and issued the ticket in silence, but with an uneasy and disgruntled air, and clattered off down the steps.
    â€œThat was very kind and obliging of you, dearie,” said the woman. “What’s your name, eh? Mine’s Florrie.”
    â€œChristopher,” I mumbled, holding down my head. Her voice was as cheerfully brassy as her hair, and I feared that the conductor from the foot of his steps was listening with disapproval.
    â€œAnd how old are you?”
    â€œSixteen.”
    â€œYou’re tall for that age, dearie. You aren’t a Londoner, are you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhere d’you come from, eh?”
    This catechism continued until the bus reached my stop, when with an apology I climbed out from beneath the black apron and descended the stairs with some relief.
    But as the bus rolled off and I turned to cross the street I found her at my side.
    â€œI’ll walk a little way with you, dearie,” said she.
    This was more than I had bargained for, and as we moved along side by side I was too embarrassed to speak.
    â€œWell, this is my road,” I said at last, pausing at the corner. “So I’ll say good-night.”
    â€œShall I tell you something, Chris dearie?” said Florrie atthis, laying her hand on my arm: “I haven’t a penny in my purse; nothing