"There was the calves to suckle sometimes, when the mother died or was sold." "Calves! H'm! H'm! Well, but how could you do that?" "Dipped my fingers in milk, and let the calves suck 'em. The silly creatures thought it was their mothers' teats. Like this." With a happy inspiration she put her fingers into the slop-basin, and held them up dripping. Lancelot groaned. It was not only that his improved Mary Ann was again sinking to earth, unable to soar in the romantic aether where he would fain have seen her volant; it was not only that the coarseness of her nature had power to drag her down, it was the coarseness of her red, chapped hands that was thrust once again and violently upon his reluctant consciousness. Then, like Mary Ann, he had an inspiration. "How would you like a pair of gloves, Mary Ann?" He had struck the latent feminine. Her eyes gleamed. "Oh, sir!" was all she could say. Then a swift shade of disappointment darkened the eager little face. "But I never goes out," she cried. "I never _go_ out," he corrected, shuddering. "I never _go_ out," said Mary Ann, her lip twitching. "That doesn't matter. I want you to wear them indoors." "But there's nobody to see 'em indoors!" "I shall see them," he reminded her. "But they'll get dirty." "No they won't. You shall only wear them when you come to me. If I buy you a nice pair of gloves, will you promise to put them on every time I ring for you?" "But what'll missus say?" "Missus won't see them. The moment you come in, you'll put them on, and just before going out--you'll take them off! See!" "Yessir. Then nobody'll see me looking so grand but you." "That's it. And wouldn't you rather look grand for me than for anybody else?" "Of course I would, sir," said Mary Ann, earnestly, with a grateful little sigh. So Lancelot measured her wrist, feeling her pulse beat madly. She really had a very little hand, though to his sensitive vision the roughness of the skin seemed to swell it to a size demanding a boxing-glove. He bought her six pairs of tan kid, in a beautiful cardboard box. He could ill afford the gift, and made one of his whimsical grimaces when he got the bill. The young lady who served him looked infinitely more genteel than Mary Ann. He wondered what she would think if she knew for whom he was buying these dainty articles. Perhaps her feelings would be so outraged she would refuse to participate in the transaction. But the young lady was happily unconscious; she had her best smile for the handsome, aristocratic young gentleman, and mentioned his moustache later to her bosom-friend in the next department.