It was so uncommon a thing for her to find any self-imposed check upon what she wished to do, that Miss Haye was very much puzzled; and tried and annoyed out of all proportion by her self-consultations. She was in a fidget of uneasiness all day long; and the next was no better. "What _is_ the matter, Lizzie?" said Rose, as she busily threaded her netting-needle through mesh after mesh, and Elizabeth was patiently or impatiently measuring the length of the parlour with her steps. "You look as if you had lost all your friends." "Do I?" "Yes. Why do you look so?" "What is the difference between losing all one's friends, and having none to lose?" "Why -- haven't you any?" "Whom have I?" "Well, you might have. I am sure _I_ have a great many." "Friends!" said Elizabeth. "Well -- I don't know who you call friends," said Rose, breaking her silk with an impatient tug at a knot, -- "There! -- dear! how _shall_ I tie it again? -- I should think you needn't look so glum." "Why shouldn't I?" "Why -- because. You have everything in the world." "Have I?" said Elizabeth bitterly. "I am alone as I can be." "Alone!" said Rose. "Yes. I am alone. My father is buried in his business; I have nothing of him, even what I might have, or used to have -- _you_ never were anything to me. There is not a face in the world that my heart jumps to see." "Except that one?" said Rose. "'That one,' as you elegantly express it, I do not see, as it happens." "It's a pity he didn't know what effect his coming and looking in at our windows might have," said Rose. "I am sure he would be good enough to do it." But Elizabeth thought a retort unworthy of the subject; or else her mind was full of other things; for after a dignified silence of a few minutes she left Rose and went to her own quarters. Perhaps the slight antagonistic spirit which was raised by Rose's talk came in aid of her wavering inclinations, or brought back her mind to its old tone of wilfulness; for she decided at once that she would go and see Winifred. She had a further reason for going, she said to herself, in the matter of the money which she wished to convey to Winthrop's hands. She did not want to send Clam with it; she did not like to commit it to the post; there was no other way but to give it to him herself; and that, she said, she would do; or to Winifred's hands for him. She left home accordingly, when the morning was about half gone, and set out for Little South Street; with a quick but less firm step than usual, speaking both doubt and decision. Decision enough to carry her soon and without stopping to her place of destination, and doubt enough to make her tremble when she got there. But without pausing she went in, mounted the stairs, with the same quick footstep, and tapped at the door, as she had been accustomed to do on her former visits to Winifred.