'A drink of what, my dear?'
'Licksy.'
He raised the dip, and by its light examined her face. It was a kind of face which carries no provocative signal for nine men out of ten, but which will haunt the tenth: a child's face with a passionate woman's eyes burning and dying in it—black hair, black eyes, thin pale cheeks, equine nostrils, red lips, small ears, and the smallest chin conceivable. He smiled at her, pleased.
'Can you pay for it?' he said pleasantly.
The girl evidently belonged to the poorest class. Her shaggy, uncovered head, lean frame, torn gown, and bare feet, all spoke of hardship and neglect.
'I've a silver groat,' she answered, and closed her small fist tighter.
'A silver groat!' he exclaimed, rather astonished. 'Where did you get that from?'
'He give it me for a-fairing yesterday.'
'Who?'
'Him yonder'—she jerked her head back to indicate the watch-house—'Black Jack.'