"'Tis strange what a fancy our Molly's taken to that picture," he said. "I've thought I should like to make her a present of it one of these days!"
"I wish you would!" Mrs. Mugford answered impulsively.
"I can't well afford it—not just now; perhaps on Saturday when I get my wages I'll buy it."
"I don't feel justified in giving it to her. You see if one keeps a shop, it doesn't do to make presents of one's goods," said Mrs. Mugford.
"No, it wouldn't do to begin that sort of thing," James Lethbridge said hastily; "and you've been too generous to my family as it is. I've never thanked you, but—"
"Oh, please don't. Any little thing I can do for your wife, I'm only too glad to do. And I love the children—I never had any of my own. Your Jim's a fine, honest lad. I believe he'll make a good man some day; and Dick's a dear, little fellow; and as for Molly—well there, I can't tell you how fond I am of Molly! I wish you'd manage to give her this picture. Save the money in some way!"
Mrs. Mugford paused abruptly, rather alarmed at the thought of how her companion would take her last remark; but he was not offended, as she half thought he might be. The kindly interest in Mrs. Mugford's sharp, brown eyes disarmed his first feeling of resentment. He knew well enough, if he refrained from going to the "White Hart" for a few evenings that he would save the price of the picture, and he guessed that was what Mrs. Mugford meant.
"Well, I've a notion I know what you mean," he said in rather a shame-faced fashion; "and I don't know that I mayn't do as you say. I must wish you good evening now, Mrs. Mugford," and he turned away, and strolled down the street.
Mrs. Mugford watched his retreating figure out of sight, then she went into her shop, and began making preparations for closing for the night.
Meanwhile James Lethbridge was halting outside the "White Hart," hesitating whether he should enter or not; but for once he allowed his conscience to guide him, and put the temptation aside.