Liza and her mother were having supper. Mrs. Kemp was an elderly woman, short, and rather stout, with a red face, and grey hair brushed tight back over her forehead. She had been a widow for many years, and since her husband's death had lived with Liza in the ground-floor front room in which they were now sitting. Her husband had been a soldier, and from a grateful country she received a pension large enough to keep her from starvation, and by charring and doing such odd jobs as she could get she earned a little extra to supply herself with liquor. Liza was able to make her own living by working at a factory.
Mrs. Kemp was rather sulky this evening.
'Wot was yer doin' this afternoon, Liza?' she asked.
'I was in the street.'
'You're always in the street when I want yer.'
'I didn't know as 'ow yer wanted me, mother,' answered Liza.
'Well, yer might 'ave come ter see! I might 'ave been dead, for all you knew.'
Liza said nothing.
'My rheumatics was thet bad to-dy, thet I didn't know wot ter do with myself. The doctor said I was to be rubbed with that stuff 'e give me, but yer won't never do nothin' for me.'
'Well, mother,' said Liza, 'your rheumatics was all right yesterday.'
'I know wot you was doin'; you was showin' off thet new dress of yours. Pretty waste of money thet is, instead of givin' it me ter sive up. An' for the matter of thet, I wanted a new dress far worse than you did. But, of course, I don't matter.'
Liza did not answer, and Mrs. Kemp, having nothing more to say, continued her supper in silence.
It was Liza who spoke next.
'There's some new people moved in the street. 'Ave you seen 'em?' she asked.
'No, wot are they?'
'I dunno; I've seen a chap, a big chap with a beard. I think 'e lives up at the other end.'
She felt herself blushing a little.
'No one any good you be sure,' said Mrs. Kemp. 'I can't swaller these new people as are comin' in; the street ain't wot it was when I fust come.'
When they had done, Mrs. Kemp got up, and having finished her half-pint of beer, said to her daughter:
'Put the things awy, Liza. I'm just goin' round to see Mrs. Clayton; she's just 'ad twins, and she 'ad nine before these come. It's a pity the Lord don't see fit ter tike some on 'em--thet's wot I say.'
After which pious remark Mrs. Kemp went out of the house and turned into another a few doors up.
Liza did not clear the supper things away as she was told, but opened the window and drew her chair to it. She leant on the sill, looking out into the street. The sun had set, and it was twilight, the sky was growing dark, bringing to view the twinkling stars; there was no breeze, but it was pleasantly and restfully cool. The good folk still sat at their doorsteps, talking as before on the same inexhaustible subjects, but 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.
丽莎和她母亲在吃晚饭。肯普太太是个过了中年的妇人，矮矮的个子，却很结实，脸色红彤彤的。灰白的头发往后梳着，紧贴在额头上。她已经做了好几年的寡妇，自从丈夫死了之后，一直和丽莎住在她们此刻住着的那间沿街的底层屋子里。她的丈夫原是当兵的，幸喜国家给她的抚恤金还够她勉强活命，另外靠打打杂，找些零星活干干，挣几个外快钱，给自己买酒喝。丽莎在厂里做工，能够自己养活自己。
这天晚上肯普太太绷着脸，很不高兴的样子。
“你今天下午在干些什么？”她问。
“我在街上。”
“我要找你，你总是在街上。”
“我不知道你要找我，妈妈，’’丽莎回答。
“嗳，你也好来看看的呀！我或许死了呢，谁说得定。”
丽莎不吭声。
“今天我风湿发得可厉害，简直没有办法。医生说我可以用你给我弄来的那种药水擦擦，可你一点不管我。”
“可是妈妈，’’丽莎说，“你的风湿昨天一点没发，好好的嘛。”
“我知道你干什么去了；你要穿着你那套新衣裳去出风头。钱不交给我放起来，而就是这么乱花。讲到衣服，我才远远比你需要买件新的哪。可是，当然，我是无关紧要的。”
丽莎没有接她的嘴。肯普太太再没有什么话说，就闷声不响，继续吃她的晚饭。
接下来开始说话的倒是丽莎。
“这条街上搬来了一家新的人家。你看到过他们吗？”她同。
“没有；搬来了什么样的人？”
“我不知道；我看见一个家伙，一个长胡子的高大汉子。我想他大概是住在另一头的。”
她觉得自己脸上微微热烘烘的一阵。
“不会是什么好人，你相信我说的，”肯普太太说。“我看不惯这些新来的人；这条街跟我当年刚搬来的时候不一样了。”
她们吃完饭，肯普太太站起身来，喝了她的半品脱的啤酒，然后对女儿说——
“把桌子上的东西收拾开，丽莎。我就在附近去看看克莱顿太太；她刚生了对双胞胎，这两个出世之前，她已经有九个了。我说呀，上帝怎么不收回几个去，真是可怜见。”
肯普太太说完了这句好心话，就走出门去，拐进了隔开几个门口的另一所房子里去。
丽莎并没有照她母亲的吩咐把杯盘收拾开，而且还打开窗户，把她的椅子移到了窗口．。她倚着窗槛，往外望着街上。
太阳已经落山，此刻是黄昏时分。天色渐渐暗了下来，天空中显现出闪烁的星星；虽然没有风，却也凉快而宁静。
那些善良的人们依然坐在门口的石阶上，象刚才一样还是谈论着那些谈不完的老话题，只是随着夜晚的来临，声音稍微压低了一些。男孩子们还是在打板球，但是他们大多数是在小街的另一头，所以他们的叫嚷传到丽莎耳朵里的时候，都不很响亮了。
她坐着，双手撑着头，呼吸着新鲜空气，感到一种她似乎没有感到过的微妙的安谧。这是个星期六的夜晚，她想到明天早晨不用去工厂，心里高兴，她有得休息了。她多少觉得有些疲倦，也许是由于那天下午的喧扰，她玩味着夜晚的安宁。夜是那么清净，那么平静；这沉寂使她充满了异样的喜悦，仿佛觉得最好能整夜地坐在那里，闲望窗外凉爽、黯黑的街道，远眺天上的星星。她非常快活，同时却又感到一种说不出的新的忧郁的激情，几乎要哭出来。
突然一个黑色的人影走到她开着的窗口。她惊叫了一声。
“谁？”她问，因为天色很暗，她认不出那站在面前的人。
“我，丽莎，”那个人回答说。
“汤姆？”
“是的！”
那是个淡黄头发的年轻人，嘴上淡淡的髭须使他看来几乎象个孩子I白白的脸，蓝蓝的眼睛，天真可爱的神情中交织着一种莫名其妙的羞怯，碰到有人对他说话就脸红。
“什么事？”丽莎说。
“出来散一会步好吗，丽莎？”
“不！’’她断然拒绝。
“你昨天答应我的，丽莎。”
“昨天是昨天，今天是今天。”是她聪明的回答。
“出来散一会步吧，丽莎。”
“不，我对你说了，我不高兴。”
“我有话要对你说，丽莎。”她的手原来搁在窗槛上，他把手按上去。她迅速把自己的手缩了回去。
“嗯，我不要你对我说话。”
事实上她要对他说话；打破沉默正是她。
“嗳，汤姆，新搬到这条街上来的是些什么人？有一个棕色胡子的大个子。”
“你是说今天下午吻你的那个家伙吗？”
丽莎又一阵脸红。
“怎么，他为什么吻我不得？”她说，有点文不对题地。
“我没说吻得吻不得；我只是问你，是不是就是那个人。”
“是呀，我是说那个人。”
“他姓布莱克斯顿——叫吉姆·布莱克斯顿。我只跟他说过一次话。他住在十九号的顶层两间里。”
“他要两间房间作什么？”
“他？他有一群孩子——五个。你没在街上看见过他老婆吗？她是个又高又大的胖子，头发梳得怪里怪气的。”
“我还不知道他有老婆。’’
又沉默了一会；丽莎坐着想，汤姆站在窗外望着她。
“你可以出来跟我走走吗，丽莎？”
“不，汤姆，”她说，比刚才客气些，“太晚了。”
“丽莎，”他说，面孔红到颈根。
“怎么？”
“丽莎”——他说到这里，羞怯得结结巴巴的——“丽莎，我——我——我爱你，丽莎。”
“去你的！”
这回他勇敢起来，一把握住了她的手。
“我现在在厂里每星期好拿二十三先令，我还有母亲死的时候留下给我的一些家具。”
姑娘默不作声。
“丽莎，你能要我吗？我会给你做个好丈夫，丽莎，我发誓一定做到；你也知道，我不是那种酗酒的。丽莎，你肯嫁给我吗？”
“不，汤姆，”她小声回答他。
“啊，丽莎，你不要我吗？”
“不要，汤姆，我不可能要你。”
“为什么不要我？从降灵节注以来，你一直跟我一起出去散步的。”
“啊，现在情形不同了。”
“你要跟别人一起去散步吧，丽莎？”他紧接着问。
“不，不是这个意思。”
“那么，你为什么不要我呢，丽莎？噢，丽莎，我实在爱你；我从没有象爱你这样爱过任何人！”
“嗳，我不能，汤姆！”
“可不是有了别人了？”
“不，没有。”
“那你为什么不要我呢？”
“很对不起，汤姆，我跟你好，可不是要嫁给你。”
“啊，丽莎！”
她看不清他脸上的表情，但是听得出他声音里含有无限的创痛。她被一时的哀怜所冲动，仰出身子去，双臂挽住他的脖子，在他两面面颊上亲了两个吻。
“别难过，好朋友！”她说。“我不值得你烦心。”
于是她急速缩回身子，把窗户砰的关上，转身向屋子里边走去。