She stopped short, and then said hurriedly, “Don’t drink it, Phil.”
“No, I won’t. I’m hungry. I’ll eat it. Thankee.”
With a coarse laugh he left the room, and poor Martha sat down again to her weary toil, which was not in any degree lightened by the fact that she had just given away her last shilling.
A moment after, the door opened suddenly and Mr Sparks looked in with a grin, which did not improve the expression of his countenance.
“I say, I wouldn’t finish that dress to-night if I was you.”
“Why not, Phil?” asked the girl in surprise.
“’Cause the lady won’t want it to-morrow arternoon.”
“How do you know that?”
“No matter. It’s by means of a kind of second-sight I’ve got, that I find out a-many things. All I can say is that I’ve got a strong suspicion—a what d’ye call it—a presentiment that Mrs Middleton, of Number 6, Conway Street, Knightsbridge, won’t want her dress to-morrow, so I advise you to go to bed to-night.”
Without waiting for a reply Mr Sparks shut the door and descended to the street. Purchasing and lighting a cheroot at the nearest tobacco shop with part of Martha’s last shilling, he thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntering along various small streets and squares, gave his undivided attention to business.