“What do you mean by that?” exclaimed the irate dame.
“I thought you had been a woman as could be trusted,” he said, sadly.
“Trusted, indeed!” cried Keziah. “Why, he’s a madman, that’s what he is. He’s off his head because of this wedding: see if he ain’t.”
“Keziah!” said Peter, loftily, “I’ve done with you.”
“Give me that umbrella,” cried Keziah, snatching the great gingham from his hand. “Now just you speak to me again like that, young man, and I’ll talk to you.”
“I’ll see you home. I won’t be mean,” said Peter. “But you’ve broken a true and trusting heart, Keziah.”
“Hold your tongue, do,” she cried; “just as if I hadn’t enough to bother me without your silly clat. I did think he’d be open to reason,” she added half aloud.
Peter did not answer, but walked by Keziah’s side till they turned down by the Mansion House and entered Walbrook, when with a start the latter caught Peter by the arm and pointed down the deserted way to where a light figure was seen to hurriedly leave John Richards’ door, and then to flit beneath lamp after lamp in the direction of Cannon-street.
“Where’s she going?” exclaimed Keziah, hoarsely. “What is she out for to-night?”
“Who is it?” said Peter, though it was for the sake of speaking, for he knew.