Hughs, he was
particularly silent, presenting a front of some austerity, as became a
man mixed up in a low class of incident like this. And the seamstress,
very thin and scared, with her wounded wrist slung in a muffler of her
husband's, and carrying the baby on her other arm, because the morning's
incident had upset the little thing, slipped along beside him, glancing
now and then into his face.
Only once did he speak, and to himself:
"I don't know what they'll say to me down at the orffice, when I go
again-missin' my day like this! Oh dear, what a misfortune! What put it
into him to go on like that?"
At this, which was far from being intended as encouragement, the waters
of speech broke up and flowed from Mrs. Hughs. She had only told Hughs
how that young girl had gone, and left a week's rent, with a bit of
writing to say she wasn't coming back; it wasn't her fault that she was
gone--that ought never to have come there at all, a creature that knew
no better than to come between husband and wife. She couldn't tell no
more than he could where that young girl had gone!
The tears, stealing forth, chased each other down the seamstress's thin
cheeks. Her face had now but little likeness to the face with which she
had stood confronting Hughs when she informed him of the little model's
flight.
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