"She's engaged, is she?"
"Yes—at least I suppose she is."
"And when are you going to get engaged?"
Jenkins emitted a sound expressive of scorn. "You don't catch me entering the holy bonds. Not this child! It ain't all lavender, you bet. I say, you know Miss Roberts at the veg—red-haired tart." Jenkins was unaware that Richard had been going regularly to the Crabtree. "I was passing the place last night just as they were closing, and I walked down to Charing Cross with her. I asked her to meet me to-day somewhere, but she couldn't."
"You mean she wouldn't. Well, and what sort's she?"
"Devilish nice, I tell you. But not my style. But there's a girl I know—lives down the Camberwell New Road. She is a treat now,—a fair treat. About seventeen, and plump as a pigeon. I shall see her to-night."
"Oh, indeed!" said Richard, for the hundredth time marvelling that he should be on a footing of intimacy with Albert Jenkins. The girl at Carteret Street, whatever her imperfections, did not use the Cockney dialect. And her smile was certainly alluring. Moreover, she had dignity. True, she liked "East Lynne" and Hope Temple's songs, but it occurred to Richard that it might be pleasanter to listen even to these despised melodies than to remain solitary at Raphael Street or to accompany Jenkins on a prowl. Why should he not go down that afternoon to see Mr. Aked—and his niece? He immediately decided that he would do so.
"It's turned out fine," said Jenkins. "What are you up to to-night? Will you come and have a turn round with me?"
"Let me see.... The fact is, I can't." He fought desperately against the temptation to mention that he proposed to call on a lady, but in vain. Forth it must come. "I'm going to see a girl."
"Aha!" exclaimed Jenkins, with a terribly arch look. "So that's the little game, eh! Who's the mash?"