"Ah ..." She was obviously considering her possible advantage in the matter. She glanced at his polished boots, his beautiful jacket, and lastly at his face with its keen, hard lines, and judged him to be a man with a sharp eye to money and a much less discriminating one to principle—like herself. "When they was old enough ter work, I sent 'em ter the kitchens at the pub."

"Coopers Arms?" he said hopefully.

"Yeah. But they din't keep 'em. Too ugly even fer 'im. I dunno wot e' did wi' them, but you could ask 'im."

"How long ago is that? Ten years?"

"Ten years?" she said scornfully. "Yer think I'm made o' money? Fifteen years, an' I waited even then. They was six an' eight. That's plenty old ter fetch fer yerself. I'd 'a sent 'em sooner if they 'adn't bin so daft. Thought they might grow out of it an' 'ave a better chance." She prided herself on her charity.

"Thank you." He stood up, straightening his coat.

Her face fell. "Wot abaht them girls? Yer'll not find better anyw'ere, nor at a better price!"

"I've changed my mind," he said with an icy smile. "I've decided I'd like plain girls after all. Thank you for your time."

She swore at him with a string of language he had not heard since his last visit to the slums of the Devil's Acre. He walked out of the door with a positive swagger, until he saw the girls lined up in the passage, scrubbed clean, their hair tied back, their thin faces alight with hope. Then instead he felt sick.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "You're fine. I've just changed my mind." And he hurried away before he could think of it anymore.

It was close enough to noon that he could comfortably walk up to the Coopers Arms and order luncheon and casually make enquiries about the Jackson girls. Could it, after all, be so ridiculously easy that they were still in the immediate neighborhood? It was foolish to hope, and he was not even sure if he wanted to. It might easily bring Martha Jackson more distress. But it was not his job to foresee that and make decisions for her.

Was it?

He had knowledge she could not have. In telling her or not telling her, he was in effect making the decision.