‘Why, my goodness, Mr Pinch!’ cried Cherry. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I have rather wandered from my way,’ said Tom. ‘I—’
‘I hope you have run away,’ said Charity. ‘It would be quite spirited and proper if you had, when my Papa so far forgets himself.’
‘I have left him,’ returned Tom. ‘But it was perfectly understood on both sides. It was not done clandestinely.’
‘Is he married?’ asked Cherry, with a spasmodic shake of her chin.
‘No, not yet,’ said Tom, colouring; ‘to tell you the truth, I don’t think he is likely to be, if—if Miss Graham is the object of his passion.’
‘Tcha, Mr Pinch!’ cried Charity, with sharp impatience, ‘you’re very easily deceived. You don’t know the arts of which such a creature is capable. Oh! it’s a wicked world.’
‘You are not married?’ Tom hinted, to divert the conversation.
‘N—no!’ said Cherry, tracing out one particular paving-stone in Monument Yard with the end of her parasol. ‘I—but really it’s quite impossible to explain. Won’t you walk in?’
‘You live here, then?’ said Tom