'Who cares!' said Jack in his most dare devil style, putting his hand on the back of hers and stroking it softly. Victoria snatched her hand away and went to the window, where she seemed absorbed in the contemplation of the evergreens. Jack looked a little nonplussed. He was an attractive youth and looked about twenty. He had the fresh complexion and blue eyes of his father but differed from him by a measure of delicacy. His tall body was a little bent; his face was all pinks and whites set off by the blackness of his straight hair. He well deserved his school nickname of Kathleen Mavourneen. His long thin hands, which would have been aristocratic but for the slight thickness of the joints, branded him a poet. He was not happy in the cement business.
Jack stepped up to the window. 'Sorry,' he said, as humbly as possible. Victoria did not move.
'Won't never do it again,' he said, pouting like a scolded child.
'It's no good,' answered Victoria, 'I'm not going to make it up.'
'I shall go and drown myself in the Regent Canal,' said Jack dolefully.
'I'd rather you went for a walk along the banks,' said Victoria.
'I will if you'll come too,' answered Jack.
'No, I'm not going out. I've got a headache. Look here, I'll forgive you on condition that you go out now and if you'll do that perhaps you can come with your mother and me to the Zoo this afternoon.'
'All right then,' grumbled the culprit, 'you're rather hard on me. Always knew you didn't like me. Sorry.'
Victoria looked out again. A minute later Jack came out of the house and, pausing before the window, signed to her to lift up the sash.
'What do you want now?' asked Victoria, thrusting her head out.
'It's a bargain about the Zoo, isn't it?'
'Yes, of course it is, silly boy. I've got several children's tickets.'
Jack made a wry face, but walked away with a queer little feeling of exultation. 'Silly boy.' She had called him 'silly boy.' Victoria watched him go with some perplexity. The young man was rather a problem. Not only did his pretty face and gentle ways appeal to her in themselves, but he had told her something of his thoughts and they did not run on cement. His father had thrust him into his business as men of his type naturally force their sons into their own avocation whatever it be. Victoria knew that he was not happy and was sorry for him; how could she help feeling sorry for this lonely youth who had once printed a rondeau in the _Westminster Gazette_.