“Where has he gone?” he demanded in an overstrung voice. “Where is he?” He caught at Ann's sleeve in a sudden access of nervous fear. “What shall I do if he's gone?”
Hutchinson moved toward him.
“'Ere, 'ere,” he said, “don't you go catchin' hold of ladies. What do you want?”
“I've forgotten his name now. What shall I do if I can't remember?” faltered Strangeways.
Little Ann patted his arm comfortingly.
“There, there, now! You've not really forgotten it. It's just slipped your memory. You want Mr. Tembarom—Mr. T. Tembarom.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you. That's it. Yes, Tembarom. He said T. Tembarom. He said he wouldn't throw me over.”
Little Ann led him to a seat and made him sit down. She answered him with quiet decision.
“Well, if he said he wouldn't, he won't. Will he, Father?”
“No, he won't.” There was rough good nature in Hutchinson's admission. He paused after it to glance at Ann. “You think a lot of that lad, don't you, Ann?”