…a good deal too solid for me, but which she ate as only a girl in her station can eat; whilst I, looking on, watched the colour slowly creep back to her ashen cheeks, and the raindrops rise in minute vapour clouds from her skirt and boots.” Now,” she said, as she drained the last drop of coffee from her cup, and shook her head when I asked her if she would have any more, ”now, you’ve kept your bargain and I’ll keep mine. You asked me to tell you about him, and so I will. To begin with, by him I mean Jim Bailey my young man Jim. But, of course, I suppose you’ve guessed that. Journalists know a thing or two at least, so I’ve always understood. Well, in speaking of Jim I’m not going to beat about the bush; hat wasn’t his wish not…