“You know what I think about the whole thing?” he said gravely. “Ah, it’s _that_ which makes me tired!” she sighed. “All my friends say just the same. They won’t think how—how hard they make it for me—no—not even you.” “Even me?” he asked quietly. She bit her lips; she was losing her head it seemed; she must not do that. “I take the ’bus at this corner,” she said. “I think we’ll go by hansom,” said her escort. She smiled. “You always _will_ contradict me, Captain Hurstly.” “You will not contradict _me_ if I remind you that you used to call me—Jack?” he ventured. The hansom drove up, and Muriel put out her hand to him. She unmistakably intended to go alone, even though she had let him choose her vehicle. “I may come and see you?” he asked. She frowned a little. “I’m very busy, you know,” she said. “Does that mean I’m not to come?” “You might come,” she suggested suddenly, “and bring Mary’s little cousin; she can’t come alone.” “I can though,” he persisted. She shook her head and laughed merrily. “Mary’s little cousin,” she said as she drove off, “or not at all!” And he never went. CHAPTER IV “What’s the use of crying when the mother that bore ye (Mary, pity women!) knew it all afore ye?” THE club room, large and bare, with a bench or two and one long table, was full of girls, though at first glance you might not have been inclined to call them so. They were all so inexpressibly old. As they stood talking in groups, large and broad, with their frowsy hair and draggle-tailed dresses, lifting loud, rough voices and breaking from time to time into hoarse roars of laughter, they could scarcely be called prepossessing. These were the girls who had warned a simple-minded lady Bible-reader that “if she didn’t tyke ’erself orf they’d strip her”—and they would have done it. As Muriel Dallerton entered the room the whole gang swarmed towards her in greeting. They loved her. “She ’adn’t got no nonsense about ’er,” “She was a real good sort, and no mistake,” and they showed their appreciation of her by rushing from their ten hours’ work into the club and paying with treasured pennies the tiny entrance fees she exacted for the classes. To-day was cooking class, and from a great cupboard were drawn two dozen aprons, which they themselves had helped to buy and make. Muriel knew just what wages they had, and never denied them the dignity of giving a little, if they had that little to give. Two long hours’ class followed. To the girls who were accustomed to factory work it was mere play, and the pleasure and excitement of seeing how Mary Ann’s scones or Minnie Newlove’s pie turned out was inexhaustible. It was not until it was over and the cooking boards and utensils put away that Muriel missed one of the number. Lizzie Belk was a girl who attended most regularly, and Muriel walked over to her mate to inquire after her.