“O, I don’t want to know, Hannah,” said Honor wearily, as she threw herself on a sofa, a degree harder (if possible) and more comfortless than the one appertaining to the first-floor front in deeply-regretted Stanwick-street. “Please not to tell me what Mrs. Beacham said. And make me a cup of tea, will you? I am very tired, and I shiver so!” She shuddered as she spoke, but that she did so was more from inward cold than from the effects of the outer atmosphere. There was certainly something terribly chilling to this young and impressionable creature in the dingy, half-lighted room, with its dusky curtains, its faded carpet, and, above all, the work-a-day table covered, as was its wont, with evidences of the old lady’s unflagging industry--with piles of house-linen, placed there in readiness for the morrow’s inspection, for darning, marking, or the like; and with batches of John’s strong gray socks--articles of toilet far more useful than ornamental. On these uninteresting evidences of an active as well as a frugal mind a solitary tallow-candle shed its feeble light; and Honor, from whose vivid imagination the picture of the brilliant theatre with its dazzling footlights and bright array of meretricious beauty had not altogether faded away, gazed around with feelings nearly akin to loathing and disgust. A momentary gaze almost it was, for before she had time _quite_ to realise the melancholy truth that she was at home, John had settled accounts with the Leigh charioteer, and was once more by her side, and speaking in subdued tones to Hannah, who, after the manner of her kind, was bustling about, and making as much noise in the doing so as possible. “Don’t make more row than you can help, there’s a good woman,” John whispered anxiously; “there’s no use in waking up the missus. Bring a cup of tea, hot and strong, as quick as you can, and then take yourself off to bed.” Hannah made no reply to this exhortation, save by throwing a knowing glance at Honor, which that bewildered young person did not even attempt to comprehend. The mystery, however, did not take long to solve, for ere another minute had elapsed there was the sound of a creaking step upon the stairs, and Mrs. Beacham’s chronic cough (a cough which the doctors said she would never lose but in her grave) heralded the approach of Honor’s enemy.