hers get on? And her brother at the public? Nice relations for Mr. Bob Hewett. Do they come to tea on a Sunday?”
Bob glared at her, and Clem laughed, showing all her teeth. From this exchange of pleasantries the talk passed to various subjects,—the affairs of Jack Bartley and his precious wife, changes in Clerkenwell Close, then to Clem’s own circumstances; she threw out hints of brilliant things in store for her.
“Do you come here often?” she asked at length.
“Can’t say I do.”
“Thought p'raps you brought Mrs. Pennyloaf. When’ll you be here again?”
“Don’t know,” Bob replied, fidgeting and looking to a distance.
“I shouldn’t wonder if I’m here this day next week,” said Clem, after a pause. "You can bring Pennyloaf if you like.”
It was dinner-time, and they left the building together. At the end of Museum Street they exchanged a careless nod and went their several ways.
