Each time Joe looked and frowned, Dally replied with a simple, innocent maiden’s round-eyed, wondering gaze, which seemed to ask why he did not speak and say what he had to say.
But Joe Chegg said nothing, only ate, and frowned, and shook his head till he had done; and after a time Dally, having nothing else to do, thrust a little plump hand right down a black stocking till her knuckles represented the heel which had been peering through a large hole, and then and there she began to make worsted trellis-work which looked to Joe Chegg very similar to what he had often done in wood.
The drawing-room bell rang, but before Dally could answer it, Salis appeared at the door.
“Don’t go away, Chegg, my lad,” he said. “I don’t know what visitors may come, and I should like you to hang about the place and watch.”
“Well, you see, sir,” said Joe sturdily, “there’s a man’s time.”
“Oh, yes,” said Salis, smiling; “you shall be paid double time.”
“For how long, sir?”
“Wait and see; and keep a good lookout about the premises.”
He said these words as he was leaving the kitchen door, and met Leo in the hall, directly after, with her handsome eyes looking at him inquiringly.
It was observable, too, in the kitchen that Dally’s countenance looked a little more intent and she bent a little more over her stocking, and began to hum as she darned, while Joe Chegg took up the ale mug, and, after looking into it meditatively, began to work the table-spoonful left at the bottom round and round as if he were preparing an experiment whose aim was to keep one little blot of froth right in the centre like a tiny island of foam in a small sea of beer.