"I cannot imagine what your gift can be, but if it has any bearing on the present deplorable case, I should be only too thankful to permit—"
But long before this homily was completed Isabel had slipped out of her seat and was standing by Pip's side, whispering excitedly into his ear and endeavouring to thrust the grubby envelope into his hands.
"Take them," she panted. "There's thirty-five of them. Give him them all, now, and he'll let you off."
Poor little Isabel! Surely under all the broad heavens there was no crime that could not be atoned for by the surrender of thirty-five laboriously acquired Special Task-Tickets!
Pip smiled at her. He was a plain-looking little boy, but he possessed an extraordinarily attractive smile, and Isabel felt utterly, absolutely, and completely rewarded for her sacrifice.
Meanwhile Mr. Pocklington had come to the conclusion that all this was highly irregular.
"Bring me that envelope!" he commanded.
Pip handed up the envelope. Mr. Pocklington opened it, and out tumbled the thirty-five Special Task-Tickets.
"What is all this?" he inquired testily.
"Special Task-Tickets," replied Pip.