“I shan’t change my mind for all t’ coffins in the kingdom!” Mrs. Clapham’s voice rang out on a note that was almost fierce, and perhaps because of its violence Emma coloured slowly. Even in her own ears the charwoman’s voice sounded boastful and harsh, so that she shrank a little and felt ashamed. All that morning she had thought of herself as a somewhat splendid and interesting figure, but the sound of that voice seemed to reduce her to the rough, red-armed worker who stands as the prototype of her class. “I shan’t change—not me!” she repeated, but less boldly, staring uneasily at her tormentor. “I’m not saying you would,” Emma assured her quite peaceably. Her plump hand pressed a trifle harder on the table, but her little roundabout figure stood taut and straight.... “I’m not saying you would. You’re the sort as goes right ahead when you’ve once started. All the same, it might be just as well to drop t’ governors a line. Even if folks don’t change their minds for themselves, there’s things happen as changes ’em for ’em.” “My! but you’re a regular croaker, Emma Catterall!” the other burst out impatiently. “Whatever _should_ happen, I’d like to know.... Governors’ll never look for letters and suchlike from _me_” she went on more temperately, and trying to laugh. “They’ll know well enough I’ll be jumping out o’ my skin!” Emma nodded again, as if in agreement, but her hand left the table and wandered up to her waist. “There’s such things as politeness and that, I suppose,” she reminded her gently; “but there, when all’s said and done, you’ll know your own business best....” Mrs. Clapham winced openly at the usual formula, though not, as it happened, for the usual reason. She had always prided herself on her excellent manners, and it was dreadful to be called to account about them by Emma. Discourtesy, in any case, was simply not to be thought of on her beautiful day. With a downcast face she turned to throw a glance at the empty street, and behind her Emma’s arms slowly unloosed and dropped, only to lift slowly and couple themselves again.... “Ay, well, you’re likely right!” The big woman swung round again with recovered spirits. “It does seem as if summat thankful ought to be said. The worst of it is that I’m that bad with my pen! It’d ha’ been as easy as wink if I’d had my Tibbie.” “You’ll ha’ heard from Stephen’s wife lately, I reckon?” Emma inquired casually, and again Mrs. Clapham winced. It was so like Emma, that reaching out and laying a finger on your most precious treasure.... “Nay, I haven’t heard for a goodish bit,” she answered stiffly, looking away. “She’s always a good deal to do, what with her job and her children an’ all.” “Children take a deal o’ seeing to,” Emma agreed smoothly. “They’re a deal o’ work. Nobody knows what having their hands full means till they’ve one about.”