“All young gells say that at first,” said Mrs. Wheeler, making praiseworthy efforts to keep her temper. “Wheeler ’ad to ask me five times.”
“I meant what I said,” said Poppy, stitching industriously. “I shall never change my mind.”
“It’s early days to ask you perhaps, so soon after Captain Flower’s death,” suggested Mrs. Wheeler.
“That has nothing at all to do with it,” said the girl. “I shall not marry your son, in any case.”
“Not good enough for you, I suppose?” said the other, her eyes snapping. “In my time beggars couldn’t be choosers.”
“They can’t choose much now,” said Poppy, in a low voice; “but as you know I’m going to a situation on Monday, I shall soon be able to pay off my debt to you: though, of course, I can’t repay you for your kindness in letting me live here when I had nowhere else to go.”
“It isn’t me you owe it to,” said Mrs. Wheeler. “I’m sure I couldn’t ’ave afforded to do it whatever Wheeler liked to say if Bob hadn’t come forward and paid for you.”
“Bob?” cried Poppy, springing to her feet and dropping her work onto the floor.
“Yes, Bob,” said the other, melodramatically; “’im what isn’t good enough to be your husband.”
“I didn’t know,” said the girl, brokenly; “you should have told me. I would sooner starve. I would sooner beg in the streets. I will go at once.”