'Thet's true, she ain't been wot yer might call a good mother ter me--but some'ow she's my mother, an' I don't like ter leave 'er on 'er own, now she's so old--an' she can't do much with the rheumatics. An' besides, Jim dear, it ain't only mother, but there's yer own kids, yer can't leave them.' He thought for a while, and then said: 'You're abaht right there, Liza; I dunno if I could get on without the kids. If I could only tike them an' you too, swop me bob, I should be 'appy.' Liza smiled sadly. 'So yer see, Jim, we're in a bloomin' 'ole, an' there ain't no way aht of it thet I can see.' He took her on his knees, and pressing her to him, kissed her very long and very lovingly. 'Well, we must trust ter luck,' she said again, 'p'raps somethin' 'll 'appen soon, an' everythin' 'll come right in the end--when we gets four balls of worsted for a penny.' It was past twelve, and separating, they went by different ways along the dreary, wet, deserted roads till they came to Vere Street. The street seemed quite different to Liza from what it had been three months before. Tom, the humble adorer, had quite disappeared from her life. One day, three or four weeks after the August Bank Holiday, she saw him dawdling along the pavement, and it suddenly struck her that she had not seen him for a long time; but she had been so full of her happiness that she had been unable to think of anyone but Jim. She wondered at his absence, since before wherever she had been there was he certain to be also. She passed him, but to her astonishment he did not speak to her. She thought by some wonder he had not seen her, but she felt his gaze resting upon her. She turned back, and suddenly he dropped his eyes and looked down, walking on as if he had not seen her, but blushing furiously. 'Tom,' she said, 'why don't yer speak ter me.' He started and blushed more than ever. 'I didn't know yer was there,' he stuttered. 'Don't tell me,' she said, 'wot's up?' 'Nothin' as I knows of,' he answered uneasily. 'I ain't offended yer, 'ave I, Tom?' 'Na, not as I knows of,' he replied, looking very unhappy. 'You don't ever come my way now,' she said. 'I didn't know as yer wanted ter see me.' 'Garn! Yer knows I likes you as well as anybody.' 'Yer likes so many people, Liza,' he said, flushing. 'What d'yer mean?' said Liza indignantly, but very red; she was afraid he knew now, and it was from him especially she would have been so glad to hide it. 'Nothin',' he answered. 'One doesn't say things like thet without any meanin', unless one's a blimed fool.' 'You're right there, Liza,' he answered. 'I am a blimed fool.' He looked at her a little reproachfully, she thought, and then he said 'Good-bye,' and turned away.