‘My husband’s a gentleman. Good thing for me I had the sense to wait.’
‘And for me too, I dare say.’
‘Why ain’t you at work? Got the sack?’
‘I can take a day off if I like, can’t I?’
‘And you’ll go ’ome and tell your wife as you’ve been working. I know what you men are. What ‘ud Mrs. Pennyloaf say if she knew you was here with me? You daren’t tell her; you daren’t!’
‘I’m not doing any harm as I know of. I shall tell her if I choose, and if I choose I shan’t. I don’t ask her what I’m to do.’
‘I dare say. And how does that mother of hers get on? And her brother at the public? Nice relations for Mr. Bob Hewett. Do they come to tea on a Sunday?’
Bob glared at her, and Clem laughed, showing all her teeth. From this exchange of pleasantries the talk passed to various subjects—the affairs of Jack Bartley and his precious wife, changes in Clerkenwell Close, then to Clem’s own circumstances; she threw out hints of brilliant things in store for her.
‘Do you come here often?’ she asked at length.
‘Can’t say I do.’