He had turned very stern and rigid; Mattie felt that she had crossed the line of demarcation, and withdrew into herself and her needlework with a sigh.
Sidney Hinchford shook himself away from that dark thought instanter.
"You're as curious as ever, Mattie—you'll be a true woman. I would not be your husband for the world."
Mattie felt herself crimson on the instant, and a strange wild commotion in her heart ensued, more unaccountable than the mystery which had deepened around her. They were light, idle words of his, but they made her cheeks flush and her bosom heave; he spoke in jest, almost in sarcasm, but the words rang in her ears as though he had thundered them forth with all the power of his lungs.
When all this Suffolk Street life was over; when she and he, when she and they whom she loved had gone their separate ways, when she was an old woman, she remembered Sidney Hinchford's words.
Still she flashed back the jesting reply—or whatever it was—with a quickness that was startling.
"You'll wait till you're asked," she said.
At this moment some one knocked at the outer-door.
"Hollo!—a late customer like me," said Sidney, opening the door as he was nearer to it, and then staring with surprise at the person who had arrived—no less a person than Mr. Wesden himself.
"Hollo!" he said again; "nothing wrong, sir, I hope?"