“What call have you to be jealous?”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” said the young woman self-reproachfully. “Now I’ve been and let the cat out of the bag. That’s me all the world over. I never meant you to see that I was—hem—fond of you.”
“Put all ideas of that out of your red young crumpet,” he advised steadily, “as soon as ever you like.”
“Is there somebody else?” asked Miss Nutler, flushing.
“Since you ask the question—yes.”
“Does she live ’ere at the Homes?”
“She does not live ’ere at the Homes.”
“If she did,” said Miss Nutler fiercely, “I’d pay her out, the cat. And you’re a double-faced boy, you are. I wouldn’t be seen talking to you for fifty thousand pounds.”
“I guessed that was the amount.”
Miss Nutler walked off aflame with annoyance, turning as she reached the gate and making a face not pretty, in order that Bobbie might understand the true state of her feelings. That evening one of the Nutler family handed Bobbie a note on which was written, “Dear sir, referring to our meeting, I beg to inform you that all is over between us. Yours obed’tly, Louisa Nutler.—P.S. A reply by bearer will oblige.” Bobbie tore the note into many pieces, threw them over the messenger, and going indoors penned a careful note to Mrs. Bell, of Pimlico Walk. This contained an account of his progress; contained also five words, “Give my love to Trixie,” which note, reaching the Walk the next morning, made so much sunshine for the industrious young lady that she proceeded to scrub the stairs from top to basement in order to prevent herself from becoming light-headed.