The girl nodded. “A little; not very.”
Mr. Jobling hesitated; the contortions of Mr. Brown's face as he strove to make a wink carry across the road would have given pause to a bolder man; and twice his wife's husky little cough had sounded from the window.
“I s'pose you wouldn't like to step inside and rest for five minutes?” he said, slowly.
“Oh, thank you,” said the girl, gratefully; “I should like to. It—it really is very painful. I ought not to have walked so far.”
She limped in behind Mr. Jobling, and after bowing to Mrs. Jobling sank into the easy-chair with a sigh of relief and looked keenly round the room. Mr. Jobling disappeared, and his wife flushed darkly as he came back with his coat on and his hair wet from combing. An awkward silence ensued.
“How strong your husband is!” said the girl, clasping her hands impulsively.
“Is he?” said Mrs. Jobling.
“He lifted me up as though I had been a feather,” responded the girl. “He just put his arm round my waist and had me on my feet before I knew where I was.”
“Round your waist?” repeated Mrs. Jobling.
“Where else should I put it?” broke in her husband, with sudden violence.