Still she seemed troubled and uneasy.
“Ernie.”
“Well. Wot now?”
“S'posin' it's a girl, Ernie.”
Stowsher flung himself round impatiently.
“Oh, for God's sake, stow that! Yer always singin' out before yer hurt.... There's somethin' else, ain't there—while the bloomin' shop's open?”
“No, Ernie. Ain't you going to kiss me?... I'm satisfied.”
“Satisfied! Yer don't want the kid to be arst 'oo 'is father was, do yer? Yer'd better come along with me some day this week and git spliced. Yer don't want to go frettin' or any of that funny business while it's on.”
“Oh, Ernie! do you really mean it?”—and she threw her arms round his neck, and broke down at last.
. . . . .