“Fred’s often hanging about, though. Does she see him, do you think?”
“Oh no,” said Mrs Shingle, “I don’t think she does. Heigho! I don’t know how it’s to end. She’s getting as thin as thin, and hardly eats a bit; and she’s always watching and listening in a weary, wretched way, that makes me wish she was married.”
“Well, that’s it,” cried Dick; “let’s get her married.”
“Are you in such a hurry to part with her, then?” said Mrs Shingle bitterly.
“Part with her? Not I! I’m not going to part with her. Whoever it is as has her will have to come and live here.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Nice thing, for a young couple to be always having their father and mother in the house! Suppose whoever it is should want to bring his too?”
“Well, that would be awkward,” said Dick, rubbing his nose. “Hush! here she is.”
For Jessie came in just then, very gently, and her aspect justified Mrs Shingle’s words. She looked thin and wasted, while a sad, weary smile played about her lips, as if she were in constant pain and trying to hide it from those around. “Why, Jessie, my gal,” said Dick, “where have you been all this long time? Come along. I’ve got to leave soon—11:20 sharp,” he continued, glancing at his watch, and shutting it with a loud snap as Mrs Shingle rose and left the room.
Jessie went to his side, and kissed him, staying leaning upon his shoulder; but soon after walked away to the window and looked out.
“That’s what she’s always doing,” muttered Dick—“always looking for some one as never comes. It must be about one of those two fellows. Jessie!” he cried.