"Oh, nonsense!" said Ora peevishly. "It's now or to-morrow; and to-morrow will do just as well."
Hazlewood and Babba exchanged glances. After all, to-morrow would be just in time; they had wrestled long with her to-day.
"If you'll take your Bible oath to settle one way or the other to-morrow—" Babba began.
"I will, I will, oh, of course I will," Ora interrupted, infinite joy and relief lighting up her face. "I shall know quite well by to-morrow. Do go now, there's good men. I'll settle it all in five minutes to-morrow."
"Mind you do," said Babba, looking round for his hat. Hazlewood had his and was staring at the crown of it; a coach and four might have hazarded passage along the wrinkle now.
"You'll be just the same to-morrow," he observed, hardly reproachfully, but with an air of sad knowledge.
"I shan't," said Ora indignantly. "If you think that of me, I wonder you have anything to do with me. Oh, but I suppose I'm useful! Nobody cares for me—only just for the use I am to them!"
Both men smiled broadly; greatly to her surprise and disgust Irene found herself exchanging what she was obliged to call a grin with Babba Flint; she had not expected to live to do that.
"That's just it, Miss Pinsent," said Babba. "You ain't clever, and you ain't pleasant, and you ain't pretty; but the fool of a public happens to like you, so we've all got to pretend you are; and we mean to work you to the last tanner, don't you know?"