He had a bill in the window—"A Boy Wanted"—and if it had been a boy's face flitting about in the rain there, he should not have been so full of doubts as to the object with which he was watched; but there was a battered bonnet on the head of the watcher, and therefore no room for speculation concerning sex, at least.
After an hour's fugitive dodging, Mattie—for it was she—came at a slow rate into the shop. She walked forwards very feebly, and took a firm grip of the counter to steady herself.
Mr. Wesden critically surveyed her from his post of observation; she did not speak, but she kept her black eyes directed to the face in front of her.
"Well—what do you want, Mattie?" asked Mr. Wesden, finally.
"Nothin'—that is to buy."
"Ah! then we've nothing to give away for you any more."
"I want to speak to Master Hinchford," said Mattie; "I've come about the brooch."
"Not brought it back!" exclaimed Mr. Wesden, roused out of his apathetic demeanour by this assertion.
"I wish I had—no, I on'y want to see him."
Mr. Wesden called to his wife, and delivered Mattie's request through the glass, keeping one eye on the new comer all the while. Mrs. Wesden sent her daughter up-stairs with the message, and presently from a side door opening into the shop Miss Wesden made her appearance.