Mrs Jenkles rose, took a splint from the chimney-piece, lit it, and handed it to her husband.
“No,” he said, rubbing his ear with the stem of his pipe, “it aint that, my dear; I meant figgeratively, as old Jones says.”
Mrs Jenkles threw the match into the fire, and resumed her work for a few minutes; then glanced at the clock, and put away her work.
“Yes, Sam, I shall go to Upper Holloway to-morrow, and see what I think.”
“Do, my lass, do,” said Sam, drearily. Then, in an undertone, as he tapped his pipe-bowl on the hob, “Well, it’s out now, and no mistake. Shall we go to bed?”
“Our next meeting.”
Fin Rea stood gazing down for a few moments, and then said—“No, indeed, I can’t, Mr Mervyn. Pray go.”
“Oh, Mr Mervyn,” said Tiny, softly, “don’t tease her any more.”
“It is hard to refuse such a request,” said the newcomer; “but, as trespassers, you must leave me to administer punishment. And, besides, I owe Miss Fin here a grudge. She has been laughing at me, I hear.”