It was Sunday, and Paradise Grove was less savoury than usual. It was also more active, for most of the cleaning and washing were done on that day. Sunday, too, was the grand cooking-day of the week; everybody in the Grove tried to get a little hot meat on the Sunday. Often it was not possible, for in the Grove were many of the victims of London’s cruel sweating system, and many a woman worked fourteen hours a day for less than a shilling. Considering this terrible fight for life, and the environments of these people, the wonder was that they were not worse than they were. Happily, however, the system was doomed, for England was determined not to endure it, and public opinion was so severe on the sweaters themselves that their number became less every month. There was in process of formation a new Volunteer Corps, which already numbered thousands of employers of labour, who were sworn to abolish slavery in London, and set every man, woman, and child free. The Basket Woman, like many others, was preparing the way for this consummation. Fanny Burton was busy on Sunday morning. First she helped her mother scrub the floor of the living room, and then she washed and ironed a pair of cuffs and a pocket handkerchief; next she brushed her Sunday dress, putting a stitch here and there to make it tidy. The fact was that Fanny was going out. George Green had invited her, and she had consented, to take a walk to Harleigh Furze; and, as she herself would have said, she was “counting on it,” not altogether for George’s sake, but still more for the sake of the flowers and the ferns; for this poor, uneducated girl, who spent the greater part of her life in a close factory, had the love of flowers born with her. “Hurry on the dinner, mother,” she said; “I want to go out.” “Very well; you must get it ready yourself, then,” was the curt reply. “Nobody else can please you.” After dinner Fanny hastened from the Grove to the appointed rendezvous to meet George. He was not there, and the girl waited nearly half an hour before he appeared. When he came there was a sheepish look on his face. “How are you, Fan? You won’t mind, will you, if Drom Jones goes with us? She asked me to take her, and I couldn’t say we wouldn’t have her. And we won’t go to the Furze. Drom wants to go to Addington Park instead, because it’s nearer.” A look of scorn came into Fanny’s eyes. Andromeda Jones (the Paradise Grove people were fond of fine names) was no favourite of hers, and George knew that. “I have been counting on Harleigh Furze all the week,” she said, “and I shall go there. You can take Drom Jones to the Park if you like. It will not be the first shabby trick you have played me, George Green, but it will be the last.” “Don’t be stupid, Fan. What is a fellow to do?” “What he likes.” At this moment Andromeda herself appeared on the scene, and, without another word, Fanny walked away.