The walk to Fullalove Alley was all too short for Jem Hardy. Miss Nugent
stepped along with the air of a martyr anxious to get to the stake and
have it over, and she answered in monosyllables when her companion
pointed out the beauties of the night.
A bitter east wind blew up the road and set her yearning for the joys of
Mr. Wilks's best room. "It's very cold," she said, shivering.
Hardy assented, and reluctantly quickened his pace to keep step with
hers. Miss Nugent with her chin sunk in a fur boa looked neither to the
right nor the left, and turning briskly into the alley, turned the handle
of Mr. Wilks's door and walked in, leaving her companion to follow.
The steward, who was smoking a long pipe over the fire, looked round in
alarm. Then his expression changed, and he rose and stammered out a
welcome. Two minutes later Miss Nugent, enthroned in the best chair with
her toes on the fender, gave her faithful subject a free pardon and full
permission to make hot coffee.
"And don't you ever try and deceive me again, Sam," she said, as she
sipped the comforting beverage.
"No, miss," said the steward, humbly.
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