“I am always busy,” said Martha, with a sigh.
“An’ it don’t seem to agree with you, to judge from your looks,” rejoined the man.
This was true. The poor girl’s pretty face was thin and very pale and haggard.
“I was up all last night,” she said, “and feel tired now, and there’s not much chance of my getting to bed to-night either, because the lady for whom I am making this must have it by to-morrow afternoon at latest.”
Here Mr Sparks muttered something very like a malediction on ladies in general, and on ladies who “must” have dresses in particular.
“Your fire’s dead out, Martha,” he added, poking among the ashes in search of a live ember.
“Yes, Phil, it’s out. I can’t afford fire of an evening; besides it ain’t cold just now.”
“You can afford matches, I suppose,” growled Phil; “ah, here they are. Useful things matches, not only for lightin’ a feller’s pipe with, but also for—well; so she must have it by to-morrow afternoon, must she?”
“Yes, so my employer tells me.”
“An’ she’ll not take no denial, won’t she?”