'I didn't know 'e 'ad a wife.' There was another silence; Liza sat thinking, and Tom stood at the window, looking at her. 'Won't yer come aht with me, Liza?' he asked, at last. 'Na, Tom,' she said, a little more gently, 'it's too lite.' 'Liza,' he said, blushing to the roots of his hair. 'Well?' 'Liza'--he couldn't go on, and stuttered in his shyness--'Liza, I--I--I loves yer, Liza.' 'Garn awy!' He was quite brave now, and took hold of her hand. 'Yer know, Liza, I'm earnin' twenty-three shillin's at the works now, an' I've got some furniture as mother left me when she was took.' The girl said nothing. 'Liza, will you 'ave me? I'll make yer a good 'usband, Liza, swop me bob, I will; an' yer know I'm not a drinkin' sort. Liza, will yer marry me?' 'Na, Tom,' she answered quietly. 'Oh, Liza, won't you 'ave me?' 'Na, Tom, I can't.' 'Why not? You've come aht walkin' with me ever since Whitsun.' 'Ah, things is different now.' 'You're not walkin' aht with anybody else, are you, Liza?' he asked quickly. 'Na, not that.' 'Well, why won't yer, Liza? Oh Liza, I do love yer, I've never loved anybody as I love you!' 'Oh, I can't, Tom!' 'There ain't no one else?' 'Na.' 'Then why not?' 'I'm very sorry, Tom, but I don't love yer so as ter marry yer.' 'Oh, Liza!' She could not see the look upon his face, but she heard the agony in his voice; and, moved with sudden pity, she bent out, threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him on both cheeks. 'Never mind old chap!' she said. 'I'm not worth troublin' abaht.' And quickly drawing back, she slammed the window to, and moved into the further part of the room. 3 The following day was Sunday. Liza when she was dressing herself in the morning, felt the hardness of fate in the impossibility of eating one's cake and having it; she wished she had reserved her new dress, and had still before her the sensation of a first appearance in it. With a sigh she put on her ordinary everyday working dress, and proceeded to get the breakfast ready, for her mother had been out late the previous night, celebrating the new arrivals in the street, and had the 'rheumatics' this morning. 'Oo, my 'ead!' she was saying, as she pressed her hands on each side of her forehead. 'I've got the neuralgy again, wot shall I do? I dunno 'ow it is, but it always comes on Sunday mornings. Oo, an' my rheumatics, they give me sich a doin' in the night!' 'You'd better go to the 'orspital mother.' 'Not I!' answered the worthy lady, with great decision. 'You 'as a dozen young chaps messin' you abaht, and lookin' at yer, and then they tells yer ter leave off beer and spirrits. Well, wot I says, I says I can't do withaht my glass of beer.' She thumped her pillow to emphasize the statement.