Mrs. Jobling nodded. “Yes, Bill. She—she—she——”
“Well?” said Mr. Jobling, in exasperation.
“She's being employed by Gingell and Watson,” said his wife.
Mr. Jobling sprang to his feet, and with scarlet face and clinched fists strove to assimilate the information and all its meaning.
“What—what did she come here for? Do you mean to tell me she thinks I took the money?” he said, huskily, after a long pause.
Mrs. Jobling bent before the storm. “I think she took a fancy to you, Bill,” she said, timidly.
Mr. Jobling appeared to swallow something; then he took a step nearer to her. “You let me see you laugh again, that's all,” he said, fiercely. “As for that Jezzybill—”
“There she is,” said his wife, as a knock sounded at the door. “Don't say anything to hurt her feelings, Bill. You said she was to be pitied. And it must be a hard life to 'ave to go round and flatter old married men. I shouldn't like it.”
Mr. Jobling, past speech, stood and glared at her. Then, with an inarticulate cry, he rushed to the front door and flung it open. Miss Robinson, fresh and bright, stood smiling outside. Within easy distance a little group of neighbors were making conversation, while opposite Mr. Brown awaited events.
“What d'you want?” demanded Mr. Jobling, harshly.