In Mrs. Hewson's eyes, as she looked up at Sally, was a considerate
inquiry blent with curiosity, touched with suspicion which she tried
in vain to conceal.
"Going out to dinner, Miss Bishop?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Oh--that's nice for you--isn't it?"
"Very."
Though Janet had finished her breakfast, she waited on with amusement
concealed behind an expressionless exterior.
"Of course, Mr. Arthur can afford it," Mrs. Hewson went on. Sally
made no reply. Mr. Hewson simpered affectedly. "Of course, I'm only
supposin' it's Mr. Arthur. P'raps I may be quite wrong." Sally still
resorted to silence. "Are you going to a theayter with him?" She shot
the last bolt--went as far as decency in such matters and such
surroundings would permit, and it succeeded--it forced Sally to
retort.
"It's not Mr. Arthur, Mrs. Hewson--there is no need to worry
yourself." She snapped the words--broke them crisp and sharp with
pardonable irritation and spirit.
"Oh--indeed--I'm not worrying meself. I'm sorry to have made you so
offended like--it's no affair of mine. I'm quite aware of that--only
that I thought, seeing you've been here nigh on two years and never
gone out by yourself before like--I was only just making--whatcher
might call--friendly inquiry about it--see?"
She brushed the heads of the shrimps into the slop-basin with her
hand and stood up, evidently offended, from the table.
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