"Doing nothing. And Elbert, the footman, will come in with the tea and take it away again; and you'll say, Elbert'--mustn't say 'Elbert dear'--you'll say, 'Elbert, just bring me my glass of hot water at ten o'clock.' And he'll say, 'Yes, me lady.' No, he won't. He'll say, 'Yes, meddam ... quite.... Yes, meddam.' That's what he'll say. Lick your shoes, he will, because you're rich." "Rich!" sighed Mrs. Minto. "Who's to make me rich?" "I'm going to make us all rich," explained Sally. "You mark my words and wait and see." "I wouldn't mind not being rich," Mrs. Minto said, "if it wasn't that my poor 'ed...." "O-oh!" cried Sally, in wrath. Her mood was crushed by this inexorable return to the subject she had been chattering to avert. "Give your old head a rest, ma. Here, come out for a walk with me." "You're not to go out, Sally. Mrs. Roberson says...." "_That_ for Mrs. Roberson," said Sally, already on her feet. "You don't suppose I'm going to stick in here and get frozen stiff. There's nothing to do indoors. I got no sewing. Only makes me fret if I stay at home. I'm going to see Mrs. Perce...." She moved hastily to the door, and closed it quietly after her, for she had heard below her the shutting of the front door, and she thought it might be Toby at last. It was nearly a quarter to seven. Her guess had been right. It was he. Seeming not to have heard him, she ran lightly down the stairs as he heavily mounted them. Her heart was thumping so that she felt quite sick and faint. She could no longer run, but could only totter down towards the inevitable confrontation. It was there, and it was past--a plain, boorish "Evening." She managed the rest of the flight at a run; but when she was out of doors Sally turned to the darkness and could no longer restrain her tears of anguish. This was the end of her day. Laugh in the morning, cry before night. That was the truest proverb that ever was made. She was heartbroken. xv