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Updated: June 9, 2025
So he ate his dinner with Mr. Wayman and his wife, and found himself asking all manner of questions about the singing-girl in the course of his hospitable entertainment. He asked if the girl was going to sing at the tavern to-night. "No," answered the landlord; "this is Friday. She only sings at my place on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays."
He went down stairs, and returned to his guest, who had been pressed to eat and drink by Dennis Wayman, and who had yielded good-naturedly to that gentleman's hospitable attentions. Alone in her room, Jenny Milsom opened the window, and sat looking out into the inky darkness of the night, and listening to the voices of the three men in the room below.
"He's not been here to day; but he's been here within the week, hasn't he? He was here on Tuesday, if I'm not misinformed." "Then you are misinformed," Wayman said, coolly; "for your seafaring friend hasn't darkened my doors since the morning you and he left to go to the coach-office." Joyce could say nothing further.
Has he got any family?" "One daughter as pretty a girl as you'll see within twenty miles of London!" "Well, we'll go and have a look at his place to-night. We'd better put up your trap at the 'Pilot Boat." Mr. Wayman assented to the wisdom of this arrangement.
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