“It’s not the dead of the night, Charley. It’s nigh six in the morning.”

“Is it though? But what are you up to, Liz?”

“Still telling your fortune, Charley.”

“It seems to be a precious small one, if that’s it,” said the boy. “What are you putting that little pile of money by itself for?”

“For you, Charley.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get out of bed, Charley, and get washed and dressed, and then I’ll tell you.”

Her composed manner, and her low distinct voice, always had an influence over him. His head was soon in a basin of water, and out of it again, and staring at her through a storm of towelling.