“What for?” said Matt.
“Glass of brandy,” said the girl, holding her hand pressed to her side, and then battling hard once more with her cough.
“I haven’t a halfpenny left,” said Matt drearily, “or I shouldn’t be sitting here, my lass. But you’re better without the brandy, and there’s no place open now.”
“There! I don’t want your money, old man,” said the girl; “only one gets so used to asking, it comes natural. Are you hard up?”
“Yes,” said Matt drearily, “close as I can be.”
“Here!” she exclaimed, holding out sixpence. “You may as well have it, as for me to take it back.”
The old man stared at his companion for a moment, and then raised his hand to take the money, but he suddenly lowered it again.
“No, my lass, no,” he said; “thank you all the same, but I can do without it.”
The girl’s eyes flashed as she looked angrily at the old man, and then raising her hand, she dashed the money over the parapet, and sank down upon the seat sobbing violently.
“There!” she exclaimed passionately, as Matt spoke soothingly to her; “I know, and I deserve it all. I wish I was dead—I wish I was dead!”