The young fellow, who was a gentleman, raised his hat, and after that nobody called our barmaid “Tommy” again.
The night before it was Miss Measom’s day to leave, after business she went straight up to her room. When I went up, I had to pass her door, and I thought I heard a strange noise. I stopped and listened, and then I knew it was some one sobbing. I went to Miss Measom’s door and knocked. It was a minute or two before she opened it, and when she did I saw that her eyes were quite red.
“What’s the matter, Jenny?” I said, calling her by her Christian name, feeling rather sorry for her.
She didn’t answer for a second, and then she began to cry right out. So I pushed the door to and made her sit down, and then I said, “Jenny, I don’t want to part bad friends with you. You’re in trouble. Won’t you tell me what it is?”
She looked at me through her tears a moment, and then she said, “Oh, Mrs. Beckett, I’m so sorry I’m going away like this.”
“So am I, Jenny,” I said; “but you gave me notice; you know I didn’t give it to you.”
“I couldn’t bear to cause trouble between you and your husband,” she answered. “You’ve been the nicest, kindest people I ever lived with, and I’ve been very happy here—till—till—till you said what you did; but you didn’t mean it, did you? Tell me you didn’t mean it.”
I hesitated for a moment. But the girl looked so heart-broken that I said, “No, Jenny, I didn’t; and I’m very sorry I ever said it.”
That broke the poor girl down altogether. So I put my arm round her waist, and drew her to me, and kissed her.
“There,” I said, “all is forgiven and forgotten, and if you like to stay on I’ll pay the new girl that’s coming a month’s wages, and tell her she isn’t wanted.”