‘What a vile, cursed world this is, where you may see men and women perish before your eyes, and no more chance of saving them than if they were going down in mid-ocean! She’s only a child—only just seventeen—and already she’s gone through a lifetime of miseries. And I, like a fool, I’ve often been angry with her; I was angry yesterday. How can she help her nature? How can we any of us help what we’re driven to in a world like this? Clara isn’t made to be one of those who slave to keep themselves alive. Just a chance of birth! Suppose she’d been the daughter of a rich man; then everything we now call a fault in her would either have been of no account or actually a virtue. Just because we haven’t money we may go to perdition, and comfortable people tell us we’ve only ourselves to blame. Put _them_ in our place!’ Snowdon’s face had gone through various changes as Sidney flung out his vehement words. When he spoke, it was in a tone of some severity. ‘Has she no natural affection for her father? Does she care nothing for what trouble she brings him?’ Sidney did not reply at once; as he was about to speak, Snowdon bent forward suddenly and touched his arm. ‘Let me see her. Let me send Jane to her to-morrow morning, and ask her to come here. I might—I can’t say—but I might do some good.’ To this Sidney gave willing assent, but without sanguine expectation. In further talk it was agreed between them that, if this step had no result, John Hewett ought to be immediately informed of the state of things. This was at ten o’clock on Sunday evening. So do we play our tragi-comedies in the eye of fate. The mention of Jane led to a brief conversation regarding her before Sidney took his leave. Since her recovery she had been going regularly to school, to make up for the time of which she had been defrauded by Mrs. Peckover. Her grandfather’s proposal was, that she should continue thus for another six months, after which, he said, it would be time for her to learn a business. Mrs. Byass had suggested the choice of artificial-flower making, to which she herself had been brought up; possibly that would do as well as anything else. ‘I suppose so,’ was Sidney’s reluctant acquiescence. ‘Or as ill as anything else, would be a better way to put it.’ Snowdon regarded him with unusual fixedness, and seemed on the point of making some significant remark; but immediately his face expressed change of purpose, and he said, without emphasis: ‘Jane must be able to earn her own living.’ Sidney, before going home, walked round to the street in which he had already lingered several times to-day, and where yesterday he had spoken with Clara. The windows of the house he gazed at were dark. CHAPTER XII ‘IO SATURNALIA!’