But Prissy's long legs were as active as his, and though Victoria Regina was a heavy weight to carry, she kept pace with him.
"D'yer know wot everybody's saying about yer, Mr. Cohen?"
"Never mind, never mind, my good girl; I have no time to listen."
"They're saying, everybody is," continued Prissy, "that yer as good as ruined, and that you 'aven't got a shilling left to pay yer way with."
"What does it matter what people say, Prissy? Never listen to
tittle-tattle."
"'Ow's it to be 'elped, Mr. Cohen, when they ding it in yer ears? Mr. Whimpole, he ses he sor wot was coming all along, and when I ups and gives 'im a bit o' my mind he slaps my face, he does, and pushes me into the gutter. I don't mind that, but no one's going to speak agin yer when I'm by. It aint likely after all yer've done for me."
"You are a good girl, but take no notice of what Mr. Whimpole says. There are many here who still have a good word for me."
"Plenty, sir, and that's wot makes Mr. Whimpole mad; he can't make 'em think as he wants 'em to. You look ill, Mr. Cohen. I 'ope missis is no wus, I do."
"She is still weak and ill, Prissy; but she will get well soon--eh, Prissy?--she will get well soon?"
He cast a swift, anxious look upon her; even from the lips of this poor girl he sought the comfort of a consoling word.