'Why, whose is it, then?' she exclaimed. 'Don't play tricks, grandad; put it on at once!' 'Now come, come; you're keeping Mary waiting,' said Lydia, catching up the coat and holding it ready. Then Mr. Boddy understood. He looked from Lydia to Thyrza with dimmed eyes. 'I've a good mind never to speak to either of you again,' he said in a tremulous voice. 'As if you hadn't need enough of your money! Lyddy, Lyddy! And you're as bad, Thyrza; a grown-up woman like you, you ought to teach your sister better. Why there; it's no good; I don't know what to say to you. Now what do you think of this, Mary?' Lydia still held up the coat, and at length persuaded the old man to don it. The effect upon his appearance was remarkable; conscious of it, he held himself more upright and stumped to the little square of looking-glass to try and regard himself. Here he furtively brushed a hand over his eyes. 'I'm ready, Mary, my dear; I'm ready! It's no good saying anything to girls like these. Good-bye, Lyddy; good-bye, Thyrza. May you have a many happy Christmas, children! This isn't the first as you've made a happy one for me.' Lydia went down to the door and watched the two till they were lost in darkness. Then she returned to her sister with a sigh of gladness. For the moment she had no trouble of her own. Upon days of festival, kept in howsoever quiet and pure a spirit, there of necessity follows depression; all mirth is unnatural to the reflective mind, and even the unconscious suffer a mysterious penalty when they have wrested one whole day from fate. On the Saturday Lydia had no work to go to, and the hours dragged. In the course of the morning she went out to make some purchases. She was passing Mrs. Bower's without intention of entering, when Mary appeared in the doorway and beckoned her. Mrs. Bower was out; Mary had been left in charge of the shop. 'You were asking me about Mr. Ackroyd,' she said, when they had gone into the parlour. 'Would you like to know something I heard about him last night?' Lydia knew that it was something disagreeable; Mary's air of discharging a duty sufficiently proved that. 'What is it?' she asked coldly. 'They were talking about him here when I came back last night. He's begun to go about with that girl Totty Nancarrow.' Lydia cast down her eyes. Mary keeping silence, she said: 'Well, what if he has?' 'I think it's right you should know, on Thyrza's account.' 'Thyrza has nothing to do with Mr. Ackroyd; you know that, Mary.' 'But there's something else. He's begun to drink, Lydia. Mr. Raggles saw him in a public-house somewhere last night, and he was quite tipsy.' Lydia said nothing. She held a market bag before her, and her white knuckles proved how tightly she clutched the handles.