“I beg pardon—did you mean me?” asked a voice. She turned, and saw the commercial traveller beside her.
“No, sir!” she retorted sharply. “I alluded to the pudding; with raisins at fivepence, and only nine eggs a shilling, it is dear, very dear, inexpressibly dear.”
“I beg your pardon again; I don’t quite take it in.”
“The pudding was not for your consumption, sir.”
“You would confer on me, miss, a great favour if you would give me your name. A thousand apologies for asking.”
“My name is—” She choked; should she give her married or her maiden name? “Never mind.”
“And mine is Fisher. I am in the hosiery and haberdashery business. That is to say, I travel for a firm in that line. I am now staying at the ‘Woolpack.’”
“At the ‘Woolpack’! So am I!” she cried in dismay. “This will never do—no, never!”
She dashed out of the circus, went to the inn, removed her trifling effects, paid her bill, and departed to the “Red Lion.”