“What was your father, Alice?” The girl hesitated. “He was a baronet, Barbara.--But perhaps you would rather I said _miss_ again!” “Don't be foolish, child!” Barbara returned peremptorily. “I suppose my mother meant that he promised to marry her, but never did. They say gentlemen think no harm of making such promises--without even meaning to keep them!--I don't know!--I've got no time to think about such things,--only--” “Only you're forced!” supplemented Barbara. “I've been forced to think about them too--just once. They're not nice to think about! but so long as there's snakes, it's better to know the sort of grass they lie in!--Did he take your mother's money and spend it?” “Oh, no, not that! He was a gentleman, a baronet, you know, and they don't do such things!” “Don't they!” said Barbara. “I don't know what things _gentlemen_ don't do!--But what happened to the money? There may be some way of getting it back!” “There's no hope of that! I'll tell you how I think it was: my father didn't care to marry my mother, for he wanted a great lady; so he said good-bye to her, and she didn't mind, for he was a selfish man, she said. So she took the money, for of course she had to bring us up, and couldn't do it without--and what they call invested it. That means, you know, that somebody took charge of it. So it's all gone, and she gets no interest on it, and the shops won't trust us a ha'penny more. We can't always pay down for the kind of thing she likes, and must take what we can pay for, or go without; and she thinks we might do better for her if we would, and we don't know how. The other day--I don't like to tell it of her, even to you, Barbara, but I'm afraid she had been taking too much, for she went to Mrs. Harman and took me away, and said I could get much better wages, and she didn't give me half what my work was worth. I cried, for I couldn't help it, I was that weak and broken-like, for I had had no breakfast that morning--at least not to speak of, and I got up to go, for I couldn't say a word, and wanted my mother out of the place. But Mrs. Harman--she _is_ a kind woman!--she interfered, and said my mother had no right to take me away, and I must finish my month. So I sat down again, and my mother was forced to go. But when she was gone, Mrs. Harman said to me, 'The best thing after all,' says she, 'that you can do, Ally, is to let your mother have her way. You just stop at home till she gets you a place where they'll pay you better than I do! She'll find out the sooner that there isn't a better place to be had, for it's a slack time now, and everybody has too many hands! When her pride's come down a bit, you come and see whether I'm able to take you on again.' Now wasn't that good of her?” “M-m-m!” said Barbara. “It was a slack time!--So you went home to your mother?”