I saw in the street the girl whose nods had such an absurd effect on
William.

The children of the poor are as thoughtless as their parents, and this
Jenny did not sign to the windows in the hope that William might see
her, though she could not see him. Her face, which was disgracefully
dirty, bore doubt and dismay on it, but whether she brought good news
it would not tell. Somehow I had expected her to signal when she saw
me, and, though her message could not interest me, I was in the mood in
which one is irritated at that not taking place which he is awaiting.
Ultimately she seemed to be making up her mind to go away.

A boy was passing with the evening papers, and I hurried out to get
one, rather thoughtlessly, for we have all the papers in the club.
Unfortunately, I misunderstood the direction the boy had taken; but
round the first corner (out of sight of the club windows) I saw the girl
Jenny, and so asked her how William's wife was.

"Did he send you to me?" she replied, impertinently taking me for a
waiter. "My!" she added, after a second scrutiny, "I b'lieve you're one
of them. His missis is a bit better, and I was to tell him as she took
all the tapiocar."

"How could you tell him?" I asked.

"I was to do like this," she replied, and went through the supping of
something out of a plate in dumb-show.

"That would not show she ate all the tapioca," I said.