“You look orful white, Jill. Are you going to faint?”
“I han’t the least notion of sech a thing.”
“Well, you do look queer! You’re all narves, I expect. I wish Nat luck on you, with yer starty ways, and yer changes of colour.”
“I’m very sorry about Williams,” said Jill, her eyes filling with tears. “I expect it has took Nat all on a heap. He set a deal of store on Williams.”
“He did. But, my sakes, you never knew him, Jill; it ain’t for you to be fretting. It’s a good thing you has got the money safe, for ’twill be wanted now for the funeral. Nat said as ’twere a load on his mind a-keeping of it, for our rooms ain’t safe. We was very onlucky in ’em, and I daren’t leave so much as a shilling behind me in the morning. I wish our Guild would provide rooms for us to sleep in, as well as a place for the flowers. Well, I must go now, Jill. I’m obleeged for the tea, and the promise of the rooms—the best bedroom, mind, when you and Nat is wed. How late yer mother is comin’ ’ome. Good-night, Jill.”
Susy took herself off at last, and Jill breathed a sigh of relief. She sat up for some little time longer, waiting for her brothers; but presently, finding they did not come home, locked the door of the little flat and went to bed. She slept scarcely at all that night, and awoke in the morning quite determined with regard to one thing—that she must either find her mother before the evening, or get the five pounds from some one else to return to Nat Carter.
As she was dressing she thought, for the first time almost since she had left him, of Silas Lynn. She remembered his generosity with regard to the flowers. That basket of flowers was really a splendid gift, and, although Jill meant to give him back at least ten shillings this morning, she could not but own that he had been more than kind to her. As to his outspoken words of admiration, she gave them very small consideration. She was accustomed to broad compliments from men of all sorts, and mere words made little or no impression on her. She thought now, however, with a certain little warm comforting thrill of hope, that perhaps Silas would be induced to lend her the princely sum of five pounds, to be paid back day by day in small instalments, until the whole debt was discharged.
Silas had been kind to Jill for a long time now, and several of the flower girls had joked her about the great, coarse, ugly-looking fellow. If she could induce Silas to help her in her present awful dilemma, she felt no service would be too great for her to render him. If Silas lent her five pounds, she might conceal the knowledge of what her mother had done from Nat, and they might be married some day, if not at once.
Jill hastened her toilet when this thought came to comfort her. She snatched up a piece of dry bread to eat, instead of breakfast, and, munching it as she went, hurried down-stairs. She reached the market quite an hour earlier than she had done on the previous day, and was rewarded at once by a broad stare from Silas. His stare was presently illuminated by a smile, which ended in a wink, and, stretching out one big hand, he beckoned to Jill to approach.
“I’m going to order breakfast for two,” he said, “and there’s a cosy seat here, under this rose-tree. I’ll fill yer basket, my gel, so you needn’t go no further. You set there, and take the world easy. My word! you mind me o’ my mother more nor ever this mornin’. There’s a waiter over there, I’ll call him. Hi, Sam! You come here this minute. Now then, I want a rare feed for me and this young ’ooman.—Wot have you got?”