“You all know I can’t bear muffins!” cried Nancy, pushing it away rudely; and her own action made her sick with self-disgust as she noted unconsciously how rude, how ungracious and ungrateful it was. Yes, she was like the place, rude, ill-bred, not a lady! She could have cried, but she was too proud to cry, and instead of this innocent relief to her mind, became cross in her wretchedness and found fault with everything. “Oh, how hot it is!” she cried, “how can you live in this stifling atmosphere? One would think you were always having dinner, it is so stuffy--open the window for pity sake!” But when the window was open she began to shiver. “There is not a corner that is out of the draught,” she said. Nothing that they did pleased her. Sarah Jane’s noisy ways, as she went sweeping about, knocking down a chair here and a footstool there, sweeping against the table, were insupportable, and Matilda’s demure quietness not much better. Everything grated on Nancy. And this was where she had brought Arthur! and had been angry that he was not delighted; and now Arthur was gone never to be found any more. Oh, how her heart sank in her miserable bosom! Then came tea, the tray placed upon the oilcloth, and hot toast this time brought to her instead of the muffins. The room was full now, her father and Charley added to the group of women. Mr. Bates looked at her when he came in, sitting in his chair, with a “humph!” of disapproval. Was she not only to be a failure as far as all their hopes were concerned, but to occupy his place also and put everybody out? Nancy saw the look, and jumped up in hot resentment. “Oh, you shall have your chair!” she cried, and retreated to the sofa, where her mother feared she would take cold, so far from the fire. “Cold!” cried Nancy, “I think I shall never be cool again. You don’t know how stuffy it is in this close little room.” “Upon my word!” said Sarah Jane. “Nobody’s obliged to stay here. It is good enough for us, and so it might be for Nancy. I don’t see that she’s any better than the rest.” “Oh, hold your tongue, Sarah Jane,” cried Mrs. Bates; “can’t you see that your poor sister is poorly and out of sorts?” But neither did she like to hear the parlour called stuffy. If it was good enough for the others, why was it not good enough for Nancy? And then the family settled to their evening occupations, and the lamp was brought in, which added the smell of paraffin to that of the tea. And then Mr. Bates had his rum-and-water; and Mr. Raisins came to visit Sarah Jane. He came in with a witty greeting to the family, which made them all laugh. “Here we are again! and how was you all?” he said, with refined jocosity; and was making his way to the sofa, which was the lover’s corner, when he saw Nancy there, and drew up with a significant look of dismay and a prolonged whistle of surprise. Nancy could bear it no longer. She started up with a cry of anger, and flew up-stairs to her room, sick with disgust and misery.