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The widows of Woodles, and also the virgins, were extremely curious about Jocelyn’s daily visits, and tried to find out his name, and which college he belonged to. They were in no doubt as to the object of his visits, having by that time all seen Sally, and wished to warn Mr. Pinner to be careful.
They went to his shop and warned him.
Mr. Pinner, looking smaller and more sunk into his trousers than ever, thanked them profusely, and said he was being it.
‘One has to be on one’s guard with a motherless daughter,’ they said.
Mr. Pinner said he was on it.
‘And as your daughter promises to grow up some day into rather a good-looking girl——’
‘There ain’t much promise about Sally, mum—it’s been performance, performance, and nothing but performance since she was so ’igh.’
‘Oh, well—perhaps it’s not quite as bad as that,’ said the lady addressed, smiling indulgently. ‘Still, I do think she may grow into a good-looking girl, and so near Cambridge you will have to be careful. Your visitor is an undergraduate, of course?’
And Mr. Pinner, afraid of Jocelyn, afraid of his threats of hordes of young men descending on the shop if the engagement were known, said, slipping on the edge of an untruth, but just managing to clear it, ‘Couldn’t say, mum.’
She forced him, however—the woman forced him. ‘What?’ she exclaimed. ‘You can’t say? You don’t know?’
So then he told it without blinking. ‘No, mum,’ he said, his harassed blue eyes on her face. ‘I don’t think the young gentleman did ’appen to mention ’is name.’
And in his heart he cried out to his conscience, ‘If they forces me to, ’ow, ’ow can I ’elp it?’