“Don't stand snivelling here,” she spoke, turning to Fan. “Go up instantly to the back room, and stay there. I shall know how to trust a girl out of the slums another time.” Crying bitterly she left the room, and her mistress shut the door after her, remaining there with her lover. Fan found the window of the back room open, but she did not feel cold; and kneeling on the sofa, with her face resting on her hands, and still crying, she remained there for a long time. A little wintry sunshine rested on the garden, brightening the brown naked branches of the trees and the dark green leaves of ivy and shrub, and gladdening the sparrows. By-and-by the shortlived sunshine died away, and the sparrows left. It was strangely quiet in the house; distinctly she heard Miss Starbrow come out of the drawing-room and up the stairs; she trembled a little then and felt a little rebellious stirring in her heart, thinking that her mistress was coming up to her. But no, she went to her own room, and closed the door. Then Rosie came in, stealing up to her on tiptoe, and curiously peering into her face. “Oh I say--something's happened!” she exclaimed, and tripped joyfully away. Half an hour later she came up with some tea. “I've brought your la'ship a cup of tea. I'm sure it will do your head good,” she said, advancing with mincing steps and affecting profound sympathy in her tone. “Take it away--I shan't touch it!” returned Fan, becoming angry in her misery. “Oh, but your la'ship's health is so important! Society will be so distressed when it hears that your la'ship is unwell! I'll leave the cup in the window in case your la'ship--” Fan pushed cup and saucer angrily away, and over they went, falling outside down to the area, where they struck with a loud crash and were shivered to pieces. Rosie laughed and clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, I'm so glad you've smashed it!” she exclaimed. “I'll tell Miss Starbrow, and then you'll see! That cup was the thing she valued most in the house. She bought it at a sale at Christie and Manson's and gave twenty-five guineas for it. Oh, how mad she'll be!” Fan paid no heed to her words, knowing that there was no truth in them. While pushing it away she had noticed that it was an old kitchen cup, chipped and cracked and without a handle; the valuable curio had as a fact been fished out of a heap of rubbish that morning by the maid, who thought that it would serve very well for “her la'ship's tea.”