Dick strolled past quietly, and went a little way on beyond, but then he came back. He did not linger at the window, as one of Lizzie's admirers might have done. He passed it twice; then, with a somewhat anxious gaze round him, went in. He asked for matches, with a glance at the open door of the room behind. Lizzie said nothing, but something in her look gave him as well as words could have done an assurance of safety. He had closed the door of the shop behind him. He now said quickly, "Then I was not mistaken, and it is you, Lizzie." There was not the slightest appearance in her of the air of a rustic flirt waiting for a lover, still less of anything more objectionable. Her look was serious, full of resistance and even of defiance, as if the encounter was against her will, though it was necessary that it should be. "Yes, sir," she said shortly, "you were not mistaken, and it is me." "And what are you doing here?" "Nothing that isn't right," said Lizzie. "I'm living with my grandmother, as any one will tell you, and working at my trade." "Well--that is all right," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "I don't suppose that you sought me out just for that, sir--to give me your approbation," the girl said quickly. "For which you don't care at all," he said, with a half laugh. "No more than you care for what I'm doing, whether it's good or bad." "Well," he said, "I suppose so far as that goes we are about even, Lizzie: though I, for one, should be sorry to hear any harm of you. Do you ever hear anything--of your mistress--that was?" She gave him a keen look. All the time her hands were busy with a little pile of match-boxes, the pretence which was to explain his presence had any one appeared. "She is--living, if that is what you mean," Lizzie said. "Living! Oh yes, I suppose so--at her age. Is she--where she was?" Lizzie looked at him, again investigating his face keenly, and he at her. They were like two antagonists in a duel, each on his guard, each eagerly observant of every point at which he could have an advantage. At last, "Where was that, sir?" she said. "I don't know where you heard of her last." Dick made no answer. It was some moments before he spoke at all. Then, "Is she in England?" he said. "I'm not at liberty, sir, to say where she is." "You know, of course. I can see that in your face. Is she----But perhaps you don't intend to answer any question I put to you." "I think not, sir," said Lizzie firmly. "What would be the good? She don't want you, nor you----" "Nor I her: it is true," he said. His face became very grave, almost stern. "I have little reason to wish to know. Still you must be aware that misery is the end of such a way of life." "Oh, you need give yourself no trouble about that," cried Lizzie, with something like scorn; "she is a deal better off and more thought upon than ever she would have been if----"