“Do you know what it is?” she said. “That there are times over and over again when I’d a sight rayther you struck me than took things as you do.”
“But I couldn’t take ’em any other way, mother, you know I couldn’t. I—I love you too much.” Jill’s lips trembled. There was a fierce passion in the way she said “I love you too much.”
“And I put shame on you larst night, child. And now we are beggars. All our little savings is gone, and it’s owing to me.”
“No, we ain’t beggars—I ha’ a stocking put away in another drawer. It’s for Nat and me ’gainst we set up housekeeping. I never spoke of it ’cause I ’arned every cent of it arter hours; but I’ll take some to-day to stock our baskets, and then we’ll be off to work.”
Mrs Robinson strode noisily across the floor. She took Jill’s face between her two hands, and kissed her on each blooming cheek. Then she sat down with a profound sigh of relief.
“Ain’t you a good ’un?” she said. “Any mother ’ud be proud of yer. You hurry and buy the flowers, dawtie dear, and then we’ll be off.”
Breakfast was speedily finished, the breakfast things put away, and then Jill, drawing a ribbon from inside her dress, produced a small key. With this key she opened a small drawer, took some money out of an old stocking, locked the drawer again, slipped the key into its hiding-place, and went out.
After she was gone Poll sat very still. The bright colour which always flamed in her cheeks had somewhat faded; her big, dark eyes looked weary. After a time she gave utterance to a low moan.
“This pain’s orful,” she murmured. “I’d give the world for a nip of brandy. Coffee! What’s coffee when you ache as I ache? A sip or two of hot gin, or brandy and water, ’ud make me feel fine. Jill’s the best gel, but she don’t know what it is to have the thirst on her like me.”
Poll went into the little sleeping-room and flung herself across the bed. When Jill returned with the flowers she found her lying there, her face white and drawn, her eyes closed.