cakes, which they began to eat at the counter. They were loud in gossip and laughter, and their voices rang like brass against brass. Clem amused herself in listening to them for a few minutes; then she became absent, moving a finger round and round on her plate. A disagreeable flush still lingered under her eyes.
“Have you told her about Clara?”
“Told who?”
“Who? Pennyloaf, of course.”
“No, I haven’t. Why should I?”
“Oh, you’re such a affectionate couple! See, you’re only to give her two shillin’s next week. Let her go hungry this nice weather.”
“She won’t do that if Jane Snowdon comes back, so there you’re out of it!”
Clem bit her lip.
“What’s the odds? Make it up with a hit in the mouth now and then.”
“What do you expect to know from that girl?” inquired Bob.
“Lots o’ things. I want to know what the old bloke’s goin’ to do with his money, don’t I? And I want to know what my beast of a ’usband’s got out of him. And I want to know what that feller Kirkwood’s goin’ to
