All her life Martha had been there. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her.
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