“No, and not likely to,” was the reply.
Miss Robinson opened her big eyes and looked round with an air of pretty defiance. “I am glad of it,” she said.
“Glad?” said Mrs. Jobling, involuntarily breaking a self-imposed vow of silence. “Glad?”
The girl nodded. “I like pluck,” she said, with a glance in the direction of Mr. Jobling; “and, besides, whoever took it had as much right to it as Gingell and Watson; they didn't earn it.”
Mrs. Jobling, appalled at such ideas, glanced at her husband to see how he received them. “The man's a thief,” she said, with great energy, “and he won't enjoy his gains.”
“I dare say—I dare say he'll enjoy it right enough,” said Mr. Jobling, “if he ain't caught, that is.”
“I believe he is the sort of man I should like,” declared Miss Robinson, obstinately.
“I dare say,” said Mrs. Jobling; “and I've no doubt he'd like you. Birds of a—”
“That'll do,” said her husband, peremptorily; “that's enough about it. The guv'nors can afford to lose it; that's one comfort.”
He leaned over as the girl asked for more sugar and dropped a spoonful in her cup, expressing surprise that she should like her tea so sweet. Miss Robinson, denying the sweetness, proffered her cup in proof, and Mrs. Jobling sat watching with blazing eyes the antics of her husband as he sipped at it.