“Ah,” continued the good lady, “it’s surprising ’ow contented they can be with a little, some of ’em. Give ’em a ’ard-working woman to look after them, and a day out once a week with a procession of the unemployed, they don’t ask for nothing more. There’s that beauty my poor sister Jane was fool enough to marry. Serves ’er right, as I used to tell ’er at first, till there didn’t seem any more need to rub it into ’er. She’d ’ad one good ’usband. It wouldn’t ’ave been fair for ’er to ’ave ’ad another, even if there’d been a chance of it, seeing the few of ’em there is to go round among so many. But it’s always the same with us widows: if we ’appen to ’ave been lucky the first time, we put it down to our own judgment—think we can’t ever make a mistake; and if we draw a wrong ’un, as the saying is, we argue as if it was the duty of Providence to make it up to us the second time. Why, I’d a been making a fool of myself three years ago if ’e ’adn’t been good-natured enough to call one afternoon when I was out, and ’ook it off with two pounds eight in the best teapot that I ’ad been soft enough to talk to ’im about: and never let me set eyes on ’im again. God bless ’im! ’E’s one of the born-tireds, ’e is, as poor Jane might ’ave seen for ’erself, if she ’ad only looked at ’im, instead of listening to ’im. “But that’s courtship all the world over—old and young alike, so far as I’ve been able to see it,” was the opinion of Mrs. Wilkins. “The man’s all eyes and the woman all ears. They don’t seem to ’ave any other senses left ’em. I ran against ’im the other night, on my way ’ome, at the corner of Gray’s Inn Road. There was the usual crowd watching a pack of them Italians laying down the asphalt in ’Olborn, and ’e was among ’em. ’E ’ad secured the only lamp-post, and was leaning agen it. “’Ullo,’ I says, ‘glad to see you ’aven’t lost your job. Nothin’ like stickin’ to it, when you’ve dropped into somethin’ that really suits you.’ “‘What do you mean, Martha?’ ’e says. ’E’s not one of what I call your smart sort. It takes a bit of sarcasm to get through ’is ’ead. “‘Well,’ I says, ‘you’re still on the old track, I see, looking for work. Take care you don’t ’ave an accident one of these days and run up agen it before you’ve got time to get out of its way.’ “‘It’s these miserable foreigners,’ ’e says. ‘Look at ’em,’ ’e says. “‘There’s enough of you doing that,’ I says. ‘I’ve got my room to put straight and three hours needlework to do before I can get to bed. But don’t let me ’inder you. You might forget what work was like, if you didn’t take an opportunity of watching it now and then.’ “‘They come over ’ere,’ ’e says, ‘and take the work away from us chaps.’ “‘Ah,’ I says, ‘poor things, perhaps they ain’t married.’ “‘Lazy devils! ’e says. ‘Look at ’em, smoking cigarettes. I could do that sort of work. There’s nothing in it. It don’t take ’eathen foreigners to dab a bit of tar about a road.’