“What in the name o’ goodness were you and Mrs. Catterall doing outside o’ Martha Jane’s?” she inquired eagerly. “You seemed terribly interested in something or other, I’m sure! Not that I’ve been spying or owt, so don’t think it. I leave that to our friend Emma! But I was just looking out, thinking we might be going to have a—a spot o’ rain, and I see you and her together, as thick as thieves. Mrs. Tanner was looking out, too, and much about the same time, seeking yon cat of hers as she sets such store by, you’ll think on; and we were both on us fair puzzled what the two on you could be at!” “Nay, it was nowt,” the charwoman answered hastily, feeling decidedly mean in refusing the tit-bit for which her supporter obviously yearned, yet resolved in her own mind not to give Martha Jane away. “I just slipped up with a bit o’ my currant cake as a peace-offering like, and a sop to my conscience at the same time!” She tried to laugh with her usual open heartiness.... “As for Emma, she’s as queer as Dick’s hatband to-day. I reckon she was just up to her usual tricks, spying on other folks’ doings for want of some of her own!” “Well, she seemed real interested, she did that—as throng as throng! Mrs. Tanner and me couldn’t help noticing how interested she was.... Likely you found Martha Jane at home when you slipped up with the currant bread?” “Ay, she was at home right enough!” Mrs. Clapham replied, hoping that her tones did not actually convey the ironic emphasis with which they rang in her own ears. “Ay, she was, was she?” Mrs. James looked politely eager. “And—excuse me asking you now—was she grateful an’ all that? She wouldn’t be best pleased at the way things has shaped, I’m sure.” “She didn’t say much one way or t’other,” Martha Jane’s defender lied (if it could be called lying) with desperate ease. “She was a—a bit quiet-like,” she went on firmly, “not feeling like visitors, I reckon.... I expect she’ll be glad enough, though, of the bread, when it comes to eating it. ’Tisn’t often, I _will_ say, as folks sniff at my currant bread!” “No, indeed! It’d be queer if they did,” the other assented, though with a somewhat abstracted air. “It was right nice of you, I’m sure, though I don’t know as I think she deserves it. Mrs. Tanner and me never thought it was anything like that, but then we wasn’t taking that much notice.... Not but what we might ha’ made a sort of a guess, knowing your kind heart.” “Nay, if it comes to hearts, who fetched me yon soup?” Mrs. Clapham inquired playfully, glad of the chance to strike the keynote again; and got out into the street on a wave of fresh mutual blandishments, such as “Ay, and your best china an’ all! Too good, by half....” and “Nay, now, as if anything I had could be too good for the likes of _you_!”