Liza of Lambeth | Page 5

a
little subdued with the approach of night. The boys were still playing
cricket, but they were mostly at the other end of the street, and their
shouts were muffled before they reached Liza's ears.
She sat, leaning her head on her hands, breathing in the fresh air and
feeling a certain exquisite sense of peacefulness which she was not
used to. It was Saturday evening, and she thankfully remembered that
there would be no factory on the morrow; she was glad to rest.
Somehow she felt a little tired, perhaps it was through the excitement
of the afternoon, and she enjoyed the quietness of the evening. It
seemed so tranquil and still; the silence filled her with a strange delight,
she felt as if she could sit there all through the night looking out into
the cool, dark street, and up heavenwards at the stars. She was very
happy, but yet at the same time experienced a strange new sensation of
melancholy, and she almost wished to cry.
Suddenly a dark form stepped in front of the open window. She gave a
little shriek.
''Oo's thet?' she asked, for it was quite dark, and she did not recognize
the man standing in front of her.
'Me, Liza,' was the answer.
'Tom?'
'Yus!'
It was a young man with light yellow hair and a little fair moustache,

which made him appear almost boyish; he was light-complexioned and
blue-eyed, and had a frank and pleasant look mingled with a curious
bashfulness that made him blush when people spoke to him.
'Wot's up?' asked Liza.
'Come aht for a walk, Liza, will yer?'
'No!' she answered decisively.
'You promised ter yesterday, Liza.'
'Yesterday an' ter-day's two different things,' was her wise reply.
'Yus, come on, Liza.'
'Na, I tell yer, I won't.'
'I want ter talk ter yer, Liza.' Her hand was resting on the window-sill,
and he put his upon it. She quickly drew it back.
'Well, I don't want yer ter talk ter me.'
But she did, for it was she who broke the silence.
'Say, Tom, 'oo are them new folk as 'as come into the street? It's a big
chap with a brown beard.'
'D'you mean the bloke as kissed yer this afternoon?'
Liza blushed again.
'Well, why shouldn't 'e kiss me?' she said, with some inconsequence.
'I never said as 'ow 'e shouldn't; I only arst yer if it was the sime.'
'Yea, thet's 'oo I mean.'
''Is nime is Blakeston--Jim Blakeston. I've only spoke to 'im once; he's

took the two top rooms at No. 19 'ouse.'
'Wot's 'e want two top rooms for?'
''Im? Oh, 'e's got a big family--five kids. Ain't yer seen 'is wife abaht
the street? She's a big, fat woman, as does 'er 'air funny.'
'I didn't know 'e 'ad a wife.'
There was another silence; Liza sat thinking, and Tom stood at the
window, looking at her.
'Won't yer come aht with me, Liza?' he asked, at last.
'Na, Tom,' she said, a little more gently, 'it's too lite.'
'Liza,' he said, blushing to the roots of his hair.
'Well?'
'Liza'--he couldn't go on, and stuttered in his shyness--'Liza, I--I--I
loves yer, Liza.'
'Garn awy!'
He was quite brave now, and took hold of her hand.
'Yer know, Liza, I'm earnin' twenty-three shillin's at the works now, an'
I've got some furniture as mother left me when she was took.'
The girl said nothing.
'Liza, will you 'ave me? I'll make yer a good 'usband, Liza, swop me
bob, I will; an' yer know I'm not a drinkin' sort. Liza, will yer marry
me?'
'Na, Tom,' she answered quietly.
'Oh, Liza, won't you 'ave me?'

'Na, Tom, I can't.'
'Why not? You've come aht walkin' with me ever since Whitsun.'
'Ah, things is different now.'
'You're not walkin' aht with anybody else, are you, Liza?' he asked
quickly.
'Na, not that.'
'Well, why won't yer, Liza? Oh Liza, I do love yer, I've never loved
anybody as I love you!'
'Oh, I can't, Tom!'
'There ain't no one else?'
'Na.'
'Then why not?'
'I'm very sorry, Tom, but I don't love yer so as ter marry yer.'
'Oh, Liza!'
She could not see the look upon his face, but she heard the agony in his
voice; and, moved with sudden pity, she bent out, threw her arms round
his neck, and kissed him on both cheeks.
'Never mind old chap!' she said. 'I'm not worth troublin' abaht.'
And quickly drawing back, she slammed the window to, and moved
into the further part of the room.

3
The following day was Sunday. Liza when she was dressing herself in

the morning, felt the hardness of fate in the impossibility of eating one's
cake and having it; she wished she had reserved her new dress,