“Take the children outside a bit, Belinda,” said her mother, after the tea things had been removed. “Got my ’ome lessons to do,” said Belinda. “Do ’em when you come back,” said Mrs. Wheeler. “Sha’n’t ’ave time,” replied Belinda, taking her books from a shelf; “they’ll take me all the evening. We’ve all got a lot of ’ome lessons to-night.” “Never mind, you take ’em out,” persisted Mrs. Wheeler. “When I want to go out,” said Belinda, rebelliously, “you won’t let me.” “Do as your mother tells you,” commanded Mr. Wheeler, with excellent sternness. “I want a little quiet,” said Mrs. Wheeler; “a little fresh air will do you good, Peter.” “I’ll go and smoke my pipe in the washhouse,” said Mr. Wheeler, who had his own notions of healthful recreation. “Take your pipe outside,” said Mrs. Wheeler, significantly. “Did you ’ear what I said, Belinda?” Belinda rose noisily and gathering up her untidy books, thrust them back in a heap on the shelf, and putting on her hat stood at the door commenting undutifully upon her parents, and shrilly demanding of the small Wheelers whether they were coming or whether she was to stay there all night. She also indulged in dreary prognostications concerning her future, and finally driving her small fry before her, closed the street door with a bang which induced Mrs. Wheeler to speak of heredity and Mr. Wheeler’s sister Jane’s temper. “Where are you going, Poppy?” she enquired, as the girl rose to follow the dutiful Mr. Wheeler. “I want to speak to you a moment.” The girl resumed her seat, and taking up a small garment intended for the youngest Wheeler but two, or the youngest but one, whichever it happened to fit best, or whichever wanted it first, stitched on in silence. “I want to speak to you about Bob,” said Mrs. Wheeler, impressively. “Of course you know he never keeps anything from his mother. He ’as told me about all the gells he has walked out with, and though, of course, he ’as been much run after, he is three-and-twenty and not married yet. He told me that none of ’em seemed to be worthy of him.” She paused for so long that Poppy Tyrell looked up from her work, said “Yes,” in an expressionless manner, and waited for her to continue. “He’s been a good son,” said the mother, fondly; “never no trouble, always been pertickler, and always quite the gentleman. He always smokes his cigar of a Sunday, and I remember the very first money ’e ever earned ’e spent on a cane with a dog’s ’ed to it.” “Yes,” said Poppy again. “The gells he’s ’ad after ’im wouldn’t be believed,” said Mrs. Wheeler, shaking her head with a tender smile at a hole in the carpet. “Before you came here there was a fresh one used to come in every Sunday almost, but ’e couldn’t make up his mind. We used to joke him about it.” “He’s very young still,” said Poppy.