"You are silent to-night, Mr. Goslett," said Angela, as they took their customary walk in the quiet little garden called Stepney Green.
"Yes. I am like the parrot; I think the more."
"What is in your mind?"
"This: I have had an offer—an offer of work—from the brewery. Miss Messenger herself sent the offer, which I am to accept or to refuse to-morrow morning."
"An offer of work? I congratulate you. Of course you will accept?" She looked at him sharply, even suspiciously.
"I do not know."
"You have forgotten," she said—in other girls the words and the tone of her voice would have sounded like an encouragement—"you have forgotten what you said only last Sunday evening."
"No: I have not forgotten. What I said last Sunday evening only increases my embarrassment. I did not expect, then—I did not think it possible that any work here would be offered to me."
"Is the pay insufficient?"
"No: the pay is to be at the usual market-rate."