He disregarded her words, but in a few moments turned upon her and said scornfully: ‘I hope you’ll enjoy the pleasant, ladylike work you’ve found! I should think it’ll improve your self-respect to wait on the gentlemen of Upper Street!’ Irony is not a weapon much in use among working people; their wits in general are too slow. With Sidney, however, it had always been a habit of speech in indignant criticism, and sympathy made him aware that nothing would sting Clara more acutely. He saw that he was successful when she turned her head away and moved it nervously. ‘And do you suppose I go there because the place pleases me?’ she asked in a cold, hostile voice. ‘You make a great mistake, as you always do when you pretend to know anything about me. Wait till I’ve learned a little about the business; you won’t find me in Upper Street then.’ ‘I understand.’ Again they walked on in silence. They were nearing Clerkenwell Close, and had to pass a corner of the prison in a dark lane, where the wind moaned drearily. The line of the high blank wall was relieved in colourless gloom against a sky of sheer night. Opposite, the shapes of poverty-eaten houses and grimy workshops stood huddling in the obscurity. From near at hand came shrill voices of children chasing each other about—children playing at midnight between slum and gaol! ‘We’re not likely to see much of each other after to-night,’ said Sidney, stopping. ‘The less the better, I should say, if this is how you’re going to talk to me.’ ‘The less the better, perhaps—at all events for a time. But there’s one or two things on my mind, and I’ll say them now. I don’t know whether you think anything about it, but you must have seen that things are getting worse and worse at home. Your mother—’ ‘She’s no mother of mine!’ broke in Clara angrily. ‘She’s been a mother to you in kindness, that’s certain, and you’ve repaid her almost as ill as you could have done. Another girl would have made her hard life a bit easier. No; you’ve only thought of yourself. Your father walks about day after day trying to get work, and how do you meet him when he comes home? You fret him and anger him; you throw him back ill-tempered words when he happens to think different from you; you almost break his heart, because you won’t give way in things that he only means for your good—he that would give his life for you! It’s as well you should hear the truth for once, and hear it from me, too. Anyone else might speak from all sorts of motives; as for me, it makes me suffer more to say such things than it ever could you to hear them. Laugh if you like! I don’t ask you to pay any heed to what _I_’ve wished and hoped; but just give a thought to your father, and the rest of them at home. I told him to-night he’d only to trust you, that you never could do anything to make him ashamed of you. I said so, and I believe it. Look, Clara! with all my heart I believe it. But now you’ve got your way, think of them a little.’