“Don’t I, though?” replied the fat boy. “I say?”

“Well?”

“Are you going to come here regular?”

“No,” rejoined Mary, shaking her head, “I’m going away again tonight. Why?”

“Oh,” said the fat boy, in a tone of strong feeling; “how we should have enjoyed ourselves at meals, if you had been!”

“I might come here sometimes, perhaps, to see you,” said Mary, plaiting the tablecloth in assumed coyness, “if you would do me a favour.”

The fat boy looked from the pie-dish to the steak, as if he thought a favour must be in a manner connected with something to eat; and then took out one of the half-crowns and glanced at it nervously.

“Don’t you understand me?” said Mary, looking slyly in his fat face.