In an irresolute way, and stealing a clumsy look at her, Bradley rose to place a chair for her, and then returned to his own.

“Strictly speaking,” said he, “I come from Charley, because I left him only a little while ago; but I am not commissioned by Charley. I come of my own spontaneous act.”

With her elbows on her bench, and her chin upon her hands, Miss Jenny Wren sat looking at him with a watchful sidelong look. Lizzie, in her different way, sat looking at him too.

“The fact is,” began Bradley, with a mouth so dry that he had some difficulty in articulating his words: the consciousness of which rendered his manner still more ungainly and undecided; “the truth is, that Charley, having no secrets from me (to the best of my belief), has confided the whole of this matter to me.”

He came to a stop, and Lizzie asked: “what matter, sir?”