‘Quite sure.’
‘Presto, change. The penny is gone.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ cried the child, laughing, and opening her hand, displayed the penny lying on the palm.
‘Keep it, keep it, my child; you deserve it; and take this shilling to keep it company,’ said poor Bob Tuppit, who in his agitation had failed in one of the simplest tricks of the prestidigitator, as his brethren in the craft delight to call themselves. At another time, the failure would have been humiliating to the last degree; but at present the conjurer was too much occupied with matters of grave importance to feel his discomfiture.
Mrs Wrentham entered.
‘I understand you bring a message from my husband, sir,’ she said in her timid way.
‘Not exactly, ma’am; but I want to speak to you about him. I am a friend of his, or I should not be here.’
He glanced towards Ada as he spoke, suggesting by the look that the child should be sent out of the room. But Mrs Wrentham was too simple to understand the hint, and Tuppit was obliged to take the matter into his own hand.
‘I’ll tell you what, Ada; you might be a good magician now, if you like. You could run out to the garden and pluck me a sprig of holly for my little girl. She is very fond of shrubs and flowers; will you send her some?’
‘O yes. There is such a nice sprig of holly up at the summer-house that I was keeping for Christmas; but your little girl shall have it.—Is she as old as me?’