"Then I must have contrived to let you know that I was home again, and borrowed from you," he lightly replied.
"Well, your being here is frightfully dangerous."
"Not a bit of it. As long as the police don't suspect I am in England, they won't look after me. It's true that a few of them might know me, but I do not think they would in this guise and with my altered face."
"You were afraid of one to-night."
"Well, he is especially one who might know me; and he stood there so long that I began to think he might be watching me. Anyway, I've been on shore these three weeks, and nothing has come of it yet."
"What about that young lady named Betsy? Miss Betsy Lee."
Tom threw himself back in a fit of laughter.
"I hear the old fellow went down to Essex Street one night to ascertain whether I lived there! The girl asked me one day where I lived, and I rapped out Essex Street."
"But, Tom, what have you to do with the girl?"
"Nothing; nothing. On my honour. I have often been in the shop, sometimes of an evening. The father has invited me to some grog in the parlour behind it, and I have sat there for an hour chatting with him and the girl. That's all. She is a well-behaved, modest little girl; none better."