Mrs. Day had a feeling of oppression in the breathless air of the counting-house, of being smothered by George Boult. She untied the broad strings of ribbon and crape of her widow's bonnet, and looked round anxiously for a window. There was none, the counting-house being lighted by a sky-light. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks, she drew a long breath like a great sigh. "I am giving my Manchester man a good salary," the draper went on. "He would easily be able to spare you thirty shillings a week for board and lodging, and I should not advise you to take a penny less." Mrs. Day with an effort pulled herself together. "The man who is to manage the shop would want a room in the house, I suppose?" she suggested. "Manage the shop? What shop?" "The shop you have been speaking of--the grocer's shop." "You yourself will manage it," Boult said. "Nice bright little concern as it is, the business won't keep a man; you will manage it, assisted on busy days by your eldest daughter." But although Mrs. Day could not fight for herself, she was capable of defending her children. "To that I could not consent," she said; "I would never allow Bessie--Bessie!--to wait in a grocer's shop." "It would not hurt her, ma'am. It would do her good." Mrs. Day was silent, but her silence was eloquent. With shaking fingers she tied her bonnet strings--the wide black strings that wanted pulling out, the narrow white ones which must be arranged above them. Boult, seeing that she was preparing to depart, assumed a more friendly tone. "You must not feel that you are being hustled into this thing," he said. "The money is, of course, in a sense, yours, although I have had to decide what to do with it." Mrs. Day rose to go, Boult came forward with his hand extended. "Anything that has to do with the people's food or drink _pays_," he said encouragingly. "If I had my time over again I would take up with the groshery line instead of the drapery. People must have food, ma'am. They must have it, even before frocks and furbelows." "About Bernard?" Mrs. Day asked, waiving, not without dignity, the other subject. "I have thought of sending Bernard to Ingleby. I have opened a branch there. It is not a big concern at present, of course, but the boy can learn the business there, and if he has anything in him--I shall keep my eye on him--he can come to us later." Then he grasped the hand she unwillingly extended. "You see I promised poor William," he told her, by way of explaining his kind interest in her affairs. "And however thankless the task may be, I shall keep my word." She could not answer him, but when he released her hand she bowed her head and went away.