“And how much do you think I earn a week?” she asked.

“Fifteen shillings or so, I suppose?”

“Ah, that’s all you know about it!  Now, last week was the best I’ve had yet, and I made seven shillings.”

“What do you do?”

“Machine work; makin’ ulsters.  How much do you think we get, now, for makin’ a ulster—­one like this?” pointing to one which hung behind the door.

“Have no idea.”

“Well,—­fourpence:  there now!”

“And how many can you make in a day?”

“I can’t make no more than two.  Some make three, but it’s blessed hard work.  But I get a little job now and then to do at home.”

“But you can’t live on seven shillings a week?”

“I sh’d think not, indeed.  We have to make up the rest as best we can, s’nough.”

“But your employers must know that?”

“In course.  What’s the odds?  All us girls are the same; we have to keep on the two jobs at the same time.  But I’ll give up the day-work before long, s’nough.  I come home at night that tired out I ain’t fit for nothing.  I feel all eyes, as the sayin’ is.  And it’s hard to have to go out into the Strand, when you’re like that.”

“But do they know about all this at home?”

“No fear!  If our father knew, he’d be down here precious soon, and the house wouldn’t hold him.  But I shall go back some day, when I’ve got a good fit-out.”

The door opened quietly, and Ida came in.

“Well, young people, so you are making yourselves at home.”

The sweet face, the eyes and lips with their contained mirth, the light, perfect form, the graceful carriage,—­Waymark felt his pulses throb at the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand.

“You didn’t mind waiting a little for me?  I really couldn’t help it.  And then, after all, I thought you mightn’t come.”

“But I promised to.”

“Promises, promises, oh dear!” laughed Ida.  “Sally, here’s an orange for you.”

“You are a duck!” was the girl’s reply, as she caught it, and, with a nod to Waymark, left the room.

“And so you’ve really come,” Ida went on, sitting down and beginning to draw off her gloves.

“You find it surprising?  To begin with, I have come to pay my debts.”

“Is there another cup of coffee?” she asked, seeming not to have heard.  “I’m too tired to get up and see.”

Waymark felt a keen delight in waiting upon her, in judging to a nicety the true amount of sugar and cream, in drawing the little table just within her reach.

“Mr. Waymark,” she exclaimed, all at once, “if you had had supper with a friend, and your friend had paid the bill, should you take out your purse and pay him back at your next meeting?”

“It would depend entirely on circumstances.”

“Just so.  Then the present circumstances don’t permit anything of the kind, and there’s an end of that matter.  Light another cigar, will you?”