"
"Then come and give it he," said the other, with a merry glance at
Waymark. "But he mustn't make a mess on the hearthrug."
"Oh, trust un for that," cried Sally. "He won't pull it off the
paper."
Grim was accordingly provided with his supper, and Sally ran away
with a "good-night."
"Who's that?" Waymark asked. "Where on earth does she come from?"
"She's from Weymouth. They talk queerly there, don't they? She lives
in the house, and goes to business. Sally and I are great friends."
"Do you come from the country?" Waymark inquired, as she sat down in
an easy-chair and watched the cat eating.
"No, I'm a London girl. I've never been out of the town since I was
a little child."
"And how old are you now?"
"Guess."
"Not twenty."
"Eighteen a month ago. All my life before me, isn't it?"
Waymark kept silence for a moment.
"How do you like my room?" she asked suddenly, looking round.
"It's very comfortable. I always thought there were nothing but
business places all about here. I should rather like to live in the
very middle of the town, like this."
"Should you? That's just what I like. Oh, how I enjoy the noise and
the crowds! I should be ill if I had to live in one of those long,
dismal streets, where the houses are all the same shape, and
costermongers go bawling about all day long.
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