“But Thisbe, my dear, I only—”
“Don’t only, then,” she said, in a fierce whisper; “and don’t growl like that, or you’ll frighten them as is upstairs into thinking it’s some one else.”
“All right, my lass; all right. Only you are very hard on a man. You was hard at King’s Castor, you was harder up at Clerkenwell, while now we’re out here rocks is padded bulkheads to you.”
“I can’t help it, Tom; I’m in trouble,” said Thisbe more gently.
“Are you, my lass? Well, let me pilot you out.”
“Yes, I think you shall,” she said, “I wanted you to come.”
“Now, that’s pleasant,” said Tom Porter, smiling; “and it does me good, for the way in which I wants to help you, Thisbe, is a wonder even to me.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” she said grimly. “Now then, why did you come?”
“You said you wanted me.”
“Yes; but tell me first why you came.”