"What's the matter? Cut yourself? It don't want a doctor, do it?"
William did not answer: suddenly he plucked off his apron, flung it backwards into the shop, and disappeared into the street. The old man tottered forward, picked it off the floor and stood examining it, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish's.
CHAPTER II.
"'Brought him'! Who told you to bring him?"
Hetty's lover faced her across the round table in the lodging-house parlour. The table was spread for two, and Hetty's knife and plate stood ready for her with a covered dish before it. He had breakfasted, and their entrance surprised him with an empty pewter in his hand, his chair thrust back sideways from the table, his legs extended towards the empty fire-place, and his eyes bent on his handsome calves with a somewhat moody frown.
"Who told you to bring him?"
John Romley stood in the doorway behind Hetty's shoulder. She turned to him bravely and quietly, albeit with the scare in her face.
"I ought not to have brought you in like this. You will not mind waiting outside, will you?—a minute only—while I explain—"
Romley bent his head and walked out, closing the door.
"Dear"—Hetty turned—"you must forgive me, but I could not rest until I had brought him."