"Hush!" said Elsa, reproachfully. "It doesn't seem as if you could pretend very well. Mrs Markham's asleep, and so we must speak in whispers. Now, what are you, besides being a lodger?"
"I'm a clerk to a firm of solicitors," Peters replied, in the repressed and husky voice enjoined upon him.
"That all?"
"I'm afraid so. I had expected to be one of the firm, but there are difficulties. It seems to be usual for a solicitor to be articled, and I doubt if the firm will see its way to—"
Elsa yawned and interrupted. "That'll do. This isn't any good. Let's play at something else. Can't you think of anything?"
Peters had an idea. He passed a small confectioner's shop on his way from business, and he had observed and remembered a label in the window.
"Look here, Elsa, do you think you could manage a liquorice jujube?"
Elsa looked down at the grass and waggled one foot nervously; her eyes seemed to get larger.
"Yes, thank you," she said demurely, "I think I could."
So they went off to the confectioner's shop. Peters cross-examined the woman behind the counter almost imperiously as to the presence of deleterious mineral colouring matter in the desired sweetmeat. The woman answered him with cold confidence: