"They didn't happen to see me whilst I was talking with you. But, in
any case," added Franks, "they wouldn't have asked. They're
well-bred people, you know--really ladies. I suspect you've had a
different idea of them. Wasn't that why you wouldn't let me
introduce you?"
"Not at all," answered Will, with a forced laugh. "I've no doubt of
their ladyhood."
"The fact of the matter is," continued the other, crossing and
uncrossing, and re-crossing his legs in nervous restlessness, "that
I've been seeing them now and then since I told you I was going to
call there. You guess why? It isn't Mrs. Cross, depend upon it."
"Mrs. Cross's tea, perhaps?" said Will, with a hard grin.
"Not exactly. It's the worst tea I ever tasted. I must advise her to
change her grocer."
Warburton exploded in a roar of laughter, and cried, as Franks
stared wonderingly at him:
"You'll never make a better joke in your life than that."
"Shows what I can do when I try," answered the artist. "However, the
tea is shockingly bad."
"What can you expect for one and sevenpence halfpenny per pound?"
cried Will.
"How do _you_ know what she pays?"
Warburton's answer was another peal of merriment.
"Well, I shouldn't wonder," Franks went on. "The fact is, you know,
they're very poor. It's a miserable sort of a life for a girl like
Bertha Cross. She's clever, in her way; did you ever see any of her
work? Children's book-illustrating? It's more than passable, I
assure you.
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