‘No, there ain’t,’ cried a woman’s voice just behind him.

Jane recognised the speaker, a Mrs. Griffin, who lived in the house and was neighbourly to Pennyloaf.

‘There ain’t?’ inquired Bob, gruffly.

‘The child’s dead.’

‘Thank goodness for that, any way!’

Mrs. Griffin explained to Jane that the birth had taken place twelve hours ago.  Pennyloaf was ‘very low,’ but not in a state to cause anxiety; perhaps it would be better for Jane to wait until to-morrow before seeing her.

’She didn’t say “thank goodness,” added the woman, with a scornful glance at Bob, ‘but I don’t think she’s over sorry as it’s gone, an’ small blame to her.  There’s some people as doesn’t care much what sort o’ times she has—­not meanin’ you, Miss, but them as had ought to care.’

Bob looked more disreputable than ever.  His eyes were fixed on Jane, and with such a singular expression that the latter, meeting their gaze, felt startled, she did not know why.  At the same moment he stepped down from the threshold and walked away without speaking.

’I shouldn’t care to have him for a ‘usband,’ pursued Mrs. Griffin.  ‘Of course he must go an’ lose his work, just when his wife’s wantin’ a few little extries, as you may say.’

‘Lost his work?’

’Day ‘fore yes’day.  I don’t like him, an’ I don’t like his ways; he’ll be gettin’ into trouble before long, you mind what I say.  His family’s a queer lot, ‘cordin’ to what they tell.  Do you know them, Miss?’

‘I used to, a long time ago.’

’You knew his sister—­her as is come ‘ome?’

‘His sister?’

‘Her as was a actress.  Mrs. Bannister was tellin’ me only last night; she had it from Mrs. Horrocks, as heard from a friend of hers as lives in the Farrin’don Buildin’s, where the Hewetts lives too.  They tell me it was in the Sunday paper, though I don’t remember nothing about it at the time.  It seems as how a woman threw vitrol over her an’ burnt her face so as there’s no knowin’ her, an’ she goes about with a veil, an’ ‘cause she can’t get her own livin’ no more, of course she’s come back ‘ome, for all she ran away an’ disgraced herself shameful.’

Jane gazed fixedly at the speaker, scarcely able to gather the sense of what was said.

‘Miss Hewett, you mean?  Mr. Hewett’s eldest daughter?’

‘So I understand.’

‘She has come home?  When?’

’I can’t just say; but a few weeks ago, I believe.  They say it’s nearly two months since it was in the paper.’

‘Does Mrs. Hewett know about it?’

’I can’t say.  She’s never spoke to me as if she did.  And, as I tell you, I only heard yes’day myself.  If you’re a friend of theirs, p’r’aps I hadn’t oughtn’t to a’ mentioned it.  It just come to my lips in the way o’ tallin’.  Of course I don’t know nothin’ about the young woman myself; it’s only what you comes to ‘ear in the way o’ talkin’, you know.’