Kipps · Book II · Chapter 2 8 (3/3)

“I didn’t say I ’ad,” he interrupted, “did I, Ann?” he appealed. “I didn’t come to arguefy. I’m all wrong. I never said I wasn’t. It’s yes or no. Me or not.⁠ ⁠… I been a fool. There! See? I been a fool. Ain’t that enough? I got myself all tied up with everyone and made a fool of myself all around.⁠ ⁠…”

He pleaded, “It isn’t as if we didn’t care for one another, Ann.”

She seemed impassive and he resumed his discourse.

“I thought I wasn’t likely ever to see you again, Ann. I reely did. It isn’t as though I was seein’ you all the time. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I went and be’aved like a fool⁠—jest as anyone might. I know what I want and I know what I don’t want now.

“Ann!”

“Well?”

“Will you come?⁠ ⁠… Will you come?⁠ ⁠…”

Silence.

“If you don’t answer me, Ann⁠—I’m desprit⁠—if you don’t answer me now, if you don’t say you’ll come I’ll go right out now⁠—”

He turned doorward passionately as he spoke, with his threat incomplete.

“I’ll go,” he said; “I ’aven’t a friend in the world! I been and throwed everything away. I don’t know why I done things and why I ’aven’t. All I know is I can’t stand nothing in the world any more.” He choked. “The pier,” he said.

He fumbled with the door latch, grumbling some inarticulate self-pity, as if he sought a handle, and then he had it open.

Clearly he was going.

“Artie!” said Ann, sharply.

He turned about and the two hung, white and tense.

“I’ll do it,” said Ann.

His face began to work, he shut the door and came a step back to her, staring; his face became pitiful and then suddenly they moved together. “Artie!” she cried, “don’t go!” and held out her arms, weeping.

They clung close to one another.⁠ ⁠…

“Oh! I been so mis’bel,” cried Kipps, clinging to this lifebuoy, and suddenly his emotion, having no further serious work in hand, burst its way to a loud boohoo! His fashionable and expensive gibus flopped off and fell and rolled and lay neglected on the floor.

“I been so mis’bel,” said Kipps, giving himself vent. “Oh! I been so mis’bel, Ann.”

“Be quiet,” said Ann, holding his poor, blubbering head tightly to her heaving shoulder, and herself all a-quiver; “be quiet. She’s there! Listenin’. She’ll ’ear you, Artie, on the stairs.⁠ ⁠…”

Ann’s last words when, an hour later, they parted, Mrs. and Miss Bindon Botting having returned very audibly upstairs, deserve a section to themselves.

“I wouldn’t do this for everyone, mind you,” whispered Ann.