to-night, an' she's been 'uddled up all day cryin' for 'er mother."

"Where is her mother?"

"In the country--on a farm. Polly took a place in a lodgin'-'ouse an'
got in trouble. The biby was dead, an' when she come out o' Queen
Charlotte's she was took in by a woman an' kep'. She kicked 'er out in
a week 'cos of her cryin'. The life didn't suit 'er. I found 'er cryin'
fit to split 'er chist one night--corner o' Apple Blossom Court--an' I
took care of 'er."

"Where?"

"Me chambers," grinning; "top loft of a 'ouse in the court. If anyone
else 'd 'ave it I should be turned out. It's an 'ole, I can tell yer--
but it's better than sleepin' under the bridges."

"Take me to see it," said Antony Dart. "I want to see the girl."

The words spoke themselves. Why should he care to see either cockloft
or girl? He did not. He wanted to go back to his lodgings with that
which he had come out to buy. Yet he said this thing. His companion
looked up at him with an expression actually relieved.

"Would yer tike up with 'er?" with eager sharpness, as if confronting a
simple business proposition. "She's pretty an' clean, an' she won't
drink a drop o' nothin'. If she was treated kind she'd be cheerfler.
She's got a round fice an' light 'air an' eyes. 'Er 'air's curly.
P'raps yer'd like 'er."