He produced the necessary articles promptly; and showed her how to do
it.
"Not quite so much tobacco"--she had taken out enough for ten
cigarettes, and spilled sufficient for another five--"and--er--if you
could get it more equal along the paper. Like this--ah, thanks!"
In showing her, his fingers got "mixed" with hers, but Nell seemed too
absorbed in her novel experiment to notice the fact.
"Like that? Rather like a miniature sausage, isn't it? And it will all
come undone when I let go of it," she added apprehensively.
"If you'll be so good as just to wet the edge with your lips," he said,
in a matter-of-fact way.
She looked at him, and a faint dash of color came into her face.
"You won't like to smoke it afterward," she said coolly.
He stared at her, then smiled.
"Try me!" he said succinctly.
She gave a little shrug of the shoulders, moistened the cigarette in the
usual way, and handed it to him gravely.
"I'll try to make the next better," she said. "I suppose you will want
another?"
"I'm afraid I shall want more than you will be inclined to make," he
said, "and I shouldn't like to trespass on your good nature."
"Oh, it's not very hard work making cigarettes," she said. "I'd better
set about the next at once. How is that?" and she held up the production
for inspection.
"Simply perfect," he said. "You would amass a fortune out in the East as
a cigarette maker."
She looked up at him, beyond him, wistfully.
"I wish I could amass a fortune; indeed, I'd be content if I could earn
my living any way," she said, as if she were communing with herself
rather than addressing him. "If I could earn some money, and help Dick!"
Her voice died away, and she sighed softly.
He regarded her dreamily.
"Don't think of anything so--unnatural," he said.
She raised her eyes, and looked at him with surprise.
"Is it unnatural for a woman--a girl--to earn her own living?" she said.
"Yes," he said emphatically. "Women were made for men to work for, not
to toil themselves."
Nell laughed, in simple mockery of the sentiment.
"What nonsense! As if we were dolls or something to be wrapped up in
lavender! Why, half the women in Shorne Mills work! You see them driving
their donkeys down to the beach for sand--haven't you seen them with
bags on each side?--and doing washing, and making butter and going to
market. Why, I should have to work if anything happened to mamma. At
least, she has often said so. She has--what is it?--oh, an annuity or
something of the kind; and if she died, Dick and I would have to 'face
the world,' as she puts it."