Her tone was almost flippant. Nat opened his blue eyes in astonishment. He himself was in the most irreproachable Sunday go-to-meeting dress. He wore a button-hole of carnations. The sweet scent of that special flower gave Jill a sick, faint feeling for many a day afterwards. His hair was brushed from his broad white forehead. There was a fresh colour in his cheeks, and his happy eyes looked like a bit of the sky.
Jill’s untidy, almost slovenly, appearance distressed him nearly as much as her change of voice, but he determined to take no notice. He came in and sat down, therefore, and said after a very brief pause in a gentle voice:
“It wor Clara Williams wot kep’ me. The poor thing is nearly distraught with misery. It’s quite piteous to see her. And as to those four little orphans, wot is to come o’ them? I’m sorry I were late, Jill, but we can go out now and have a real jolly time. I can give you the rest of the day, sweet-heart. Ain’t yer mother home, Jill? Wor yer alone all the morning, my little love?”
“Indeed, no,” said Jill, “I had company, and fine company too, but it worn’t mother. Mother’s out. She ain’t very well, and she wants lots o’ air and exercise, but I hadn’t a dull time, so don’t you think it, Nat.”
“Well, I’m glad on it. You may be quite sure I were thinking on yer when I were doing things for Clara Williams. I’m right glad you worn’t dull. Shall we go out now, Jill?”
“No, thank yer, I’m dead beat. I have been out already for hours. I s’pose you has come for the money, Nat. Here it is back. You count it and see ef I ain’t stole none.”
Nat raised his eyes in astonishment. Jill, who was standing with her back slightly turned to him, held out the money in the identical brown-paper wrapper which he had given her the five sovereigns in.
“Here, take it, I’m well rid on it,” she said impatiently.
Nat held out his hand and took the little parcel.
“Open it,” she said; “count the sovereigns. You ’member as you give me five sovereigns. See for yerself that they are all there.”