“I was going for a walk,” said Bessie.
“Not the old business?” Dick spoke under his breath.
“Lor, no! I paid my premium”—Bessie was very proud of that word—“for a barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I am.”
Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the harm that had been done to him...
“It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,” she went on, “and they've got one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a penny at the end of the day—but then I don't believe the machinery is right. Do you?”
“I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.”
“He's gone.
“I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth your while. You see.” The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie saw.
“It isn't taking you out of your way?” he said hesitatingly. “I can ask a policeman if it is.”
“Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.”