"Dooks don't marry gels likeme. I'd a sight rayther read about a costermonger. A costermonger'sflesh and blood to me, a dook ain't nothing but a sort of a sperit. Oh,my word, is that you, Nat? 'Ow you did startle me!"
"I come in quietly enough," said Nat. "I suppose I needn't come into myown room on tiptoe, need I?"
Susy gave her brother a long attentive stare.
"My, how crusty you've turned!" she exclaimed in her mocking voice."Wot's up with yer? 'As Jill been giving yer a spice of her mind? Iallers said that gel 'ad the 'eart of a tiger."
"Look here, Susy," said Nat, "you stop that!" He came over and took theslim girl by her shoulders, and whirled her suddenly out into the centreof the room. "You and me," continued Nat, "are brother and sister,ain't we?"
"Yes, Nat, yes. Oh, my word; 'ow you sets my 'eart a-thumping."
"Stop talking, and listen to me. I want to say something."
"Well, well."
"_Will_ yer stop talking? I'll shake the breath out of yer if yerdon't. Now, then, you listen. Oh, you poor good-for-nothing, you poorsmall good-for-nothing bit of a _thin_ soul, you belong to me, I s'pose,and I must stick to yer. I'm yer brother, and I must hold on to yertill you gets a husband of some sort. But look yere, Susy, ef yermentions Jill Robinson's name agen to me, whether you speaks for Jill,or agen Jill, it's all the same, _I'll leave yer_. I'll leave Lunnonand I'll go where you can't find me. I'll tell you a thing about Jillnow, and then she'll be atween us not as ef she were dead, for we canspeak of our dead, but as if she had never lived, and never died.That's how Jill is to be atween you and me, in all the days that are tocome. There never _wor a Jill_. That's how things are to be. Do youunderstand?"
"Yes, Nat; you--you frighten me, Nat."
"Wot's a little fright to you? I'm nigh to hell with torture. Jill'sbroke with me. We'll never be wed, never. But that ain't the worst.The worst is there never wor a Jill, 'twas but a dream I 'ad. I dreamtit all the time I were a-growing up, and all the years sence I come tomanhood. And to-day I woke. There's no Jill. Do you hear me, Susy?Do you understand?"
"Yes, Nat, I try to. And there'll be no wedding, and no nice littleflat, and no room for me at 'arf a crown a week, and the run of thekitchen thrown in? My word, the ways of some gels is past bearing."
"Not another word, Susy. You know our bargain. Ef you breathe Jill'sname even once again, we part, and you may take care on yourself for allI care."
"No, I'll not speak on her no more," said Susy. "You needn't pinch meso 'ard, Nat, and you needn't glare at me. I can't help it ef I don'tgo into big passions like other folk. I'm made quiet, and with controlof my feelin's, and I don't see as I'm to be spurned for it. I'm quitewillin' to drop that gel; she worn't never a mate for you, 'cordin' tomy way of thinkin'. Oh, for mercy's sake don't shake me agen, I expectmy shoulders are black and blue as it is, from your pinches. Wot I wantto know now is this. Are we to stay on in these loathsome rooms, or arewe to move somewhere else? You and me could take that flat in Howard'sBuildings, and live there by ourselves--why not? Oh, good gracious, wotis the matter now, Nat?"
"I'm goin' out," said Nat. "You may expect me back when you see me, notafore."
"Ain't you coming back to-night?"
"_No_!"
The door of the room was banged to with a loud report. Susy waiteduntil Nat's footsteps ceased to sound. Then she threw herself into thenearest chair, and gave vent to a gentle sigh.
"Talk of tigresses! Why, Nat's turned into a tiger," she moaned. "Oh,my poor shoulders, how they does ache!"
The next morning Susy arrived in good time at the neat room inWestbourne Grove, where the flower girls who belonged to the Guild hadthe privilege of keeping their unsold flowers.
The room was arranged on the plan of a dairy, and was so thoroughlyventilated that even the flowers which were over from Saturday nightwere many of them still fresh and fit for sale.
Susy had bought a small supply of quite fresh flowers at Covent Garden,and she was not long in trimming up her basket and giving it a verypresentable and tidy appearance. She did not possess Jill's eye forcolour nor her delicate touch. Everything Susy did was commonplace, butnevertheless when she started forth on her day's work, refreshed by hergood wash in the nice lavatory which adjoined the room where the flowerswere stored, there was not a more presentable or trimmer-looking flowergirl in London. Her fair hair was plaited up smooth and tight; thefront portion of it being of course curled into a tight fringe. Shewore the neat and serviceable costume of the Guild, having left her ownclothes behind her at the rooms of the Institution.
A flower girl's profits largely depend on the position where she canplace her stand. These positions vary immensely in excellence, and thegood ones, in the neighbourhood of railway stations, and certain streetcorners where the thoroughfare is large, are much prized and eagerlysought after.
Susy's stand now, close to the Marble Arch, was one of the best inLondon. She had her regular customers, and it was not long before herbasket was cleared of its contents, and her pockets were filled withsubstantial coins. Having nothing further to do in the way of business,she strolled quietly home, intending to go back to Westbourne Grovelater in the day to change her costume, and get possession of herclothes.
She had nearly reached the low street where she and Nat lived, when awoman sprang suddenly from the shelter of a doorway where she wasleaning, and clutched her by the arm. The woman was Poll Robinson.
So marked was the change in Poll since Susy had last seen her; so strongwere the marks of suffering on her face, so untidy her dress, so unkempther black hair, that the girl did not at first recognise her.
When she did, a sensation of repulsion came over her, and she shookPoll's big hand from her shoulder.
"Well," she said, "wot is it? I 'as got my orders to have nought to dowith you and yourn. Oh, Mrs Robinson, you 'as been drinking; I cansmell the gin on your breath."
"Only a little drop, honey; the least drop--not more than two penn'orth.I 'ad a bad bout of pain, and the gin makes it easier. Susy, don'twalk so fast, for the love of heaven. My breath's bitter short lately,and I can't keep up with you."
"But I said I were to have nought to do with yer; them were Nat'sorders, and I s'pose I has got to obey 'em."
"Nat said you were to have nought to do with me?" said Poll. "Did Jillsay that? Did she? You tell me that true."
"I can't, Mrs Robinson. I has nothing to do with Jill, nor with you,neither. _Do_ let me go. It's disgusting to smell sperits on a womanat this hour of the day."
"It's the pain, my dear; you'd take to sperits yourself ef you had mypain. And so Nat has found out! Oh, my God, and I thought to hide itfrom him! Oh, my God, this is bitter, bitter--this is cruel--this istoo much! Oh, to think that arter all Nat has found out!"
"It's a good thing he has," said Susy, speaking at random, for she hadnot the least idea what Mrs Robinson meant. She liked, however, toshow that she was quite mistress of the situation. "It's a right goodthing as Nat _has_ found out," she continued, "and a fine pepper he'sin, I can tell yer. I never in all my days seed him in sech a taking.I shouldn't be a bit surprised ef Nat turned wicked, and he such apattern as he allers were! There now, Mrs Robinson, I can't be seentalking to yer any more. It's as much as my life is worth. Goodarternoon to you."
Susy walked quickly away, and Poll turned down a side alley. Hersufferings and the irregular life she was now leading had weakened her,and she felt a queer trembling sensation running all over her frame.
She was accustomed to gin now, and the twopenn'orth she had indulged inthis morning had little or no effect in disturbing her equilibrium. Thegin warmed her, and eased the ceaseless, gnawing pain. It was not fromthe effects of the gin that Mrs Robinson was now shaking from head tofoot. It was from the awful knowledge that her great sacrifice had beenin vain; that she had given up Jill, and in giving her up had partedwith all the sunshine, and all the love which life could offer, and yetha
d done it in vain.
Poll had gone away from the girl in order to save her from disgrace.She felt certain that Jill would fret for a little, that she would mournfor her and long to have her back again; but by-and-by Nat's love wouldcomfort her. She would marry Nat, and they would settle down in theircomfortable and respectable home together. No need to tell Nat, who wasso particular