Alice came down and declared that she was very hungry. Her mother went to the kitchen to order a meal, which in the end she prepared with her own hands. She seemed to have a difficulty in addressing any one. Whilst Alice ate in silence, Mrs. Mutimer kept going in and out of the room; when the girl rose from the table, she stood before her and asked: ‘Why couldn’t he come?’ Alice went to the fireplace, knelt down, and spread her hands to the blaze. Her mother approached her again. ‘Won’t you give me no answer, Alice?’ ‘He couldn’t come, mother. Something important is keeping him.’ ‘Something important? And why did he want you there?’ Alice rose to her feet, made one false beginning, then spoke to the point. ‘Dick’s married, mother.’ The old woman’s eyes seemed to grow small in her wrinkled face, as if directing themselves with effort upon something minute. They looked straight into the eyes of her daughter, but had a more distant focus. The fixed gaze continued for nearly a minute. ‘What are you talking about, girl?’ she said at length, in a strange, rattling voice. ‘Why, I’ve seen Emma this very morning. Do you think she wouldn’t ‘a told me if she’d been a wife?’ Alice was frightened by the look and the voice. ‘Mother, it isn’t Emma at all. It’s someone at Wanley. We can’t help it, mother. It’s no use taking on. Now sit down and make yourself quiet. It isn’t our fault.’ Mrs. Mutimer smiled in a grim way, then laughed--a most unmusical laugh. ‘Now what’s the good o’ joking in that kind o’ way? That’s like your father, that is; he’d often come ‘ome an’ tell me sich things as never was, an’ expect me to believe ‘em. An’ I used to purtend I did, jist to please him. But I’m too old for that kind o’ jokin’.--Alice, where’s Dick? How long’ll it be before he’s here? Where did he leave you?’ ‘Now do just sit down, mother; here, in this chair. Just sit quiet for a little, do.’ Mrs. Mutimer pushed aside the girl’s hand; her face had become grave again. ‘Let me be, child. And I tell you I have seen Emma to-day. Do you think she wouldn’t ‘a told me if things o’ that kind was goin’ on?’ ‘Emma knows nothing about it, mother. He hasn’t told any one. He got me to come because he couldn’t tell it himself. It was as much a surprise to me as to you, and I think it’s very cruel of him. But it’s over, and we can’t help it. I shall have to tell Emma, I suppose, and a nice thing too!’ The old woman had begun to quiver; her hands shook by her sides, her very features trembled with gathering indignation. ‘Dick has gone an’ done this?’ she stammered. ‘He’s gone an’ broke his given word? He’s deceived that girl as trusted to him an’ couldn’t help herself?’ ‘Now, mother, don’t take on so! You’re going to make yourself ill. It can’t be helped. He says he shall send Emma money just the same.’