“I shall be back for supper early this evening,” he said, “so you won’t be lonely. Now be a good girl. Do.” She made no reply, although he had spoken kindly and forgivingly, and she knew from past experience that the subject of the last night’s slip would not be alluded to again. As soon as he had gone, she drew from her dressing-gown pocket a soiled penny novelette, and settled down to her idle morning by the fireside. In the afternoon Emily came, a weary, shrivelled woman, to remain with her for a few hours. For some time past Daniel had made the sisters a secret allowance, as compensation for loss of time in their dressmaking business, on the condition of their keeping Lizzie company. Society in the ordinary sense she had none. It was the loneliness and idleness that had crushed her. At first it had seemed a grand thing to wear pretty dresses, and keep her hands white, and give over all the work of the house to the servants. Now the habit of sloth was ingrained. She had no occupation, no interests. Even her girlish fondness for finery was gone. The costume that gave her least trouble to put on was the one she selected. Like the once free-swimming sea-anemone she had grown encrusted to her rock, stretching out lazy tentacles. When her cousin arrived she was still attired in the old dressing-gown and down-at-heel slippers she had thrust on as she got out of her bed. Emily, who was precise and businesslike, hurried her off with an indignation not staled by custom, to dress herself decently. During her toilet she made the usual confession to Emily with pleas in mitigation, and the usual indictment of Daniel. But Emily was not sympathetic. She banged in the drawer, where she had been arranging Lizzie’s slovenly kept under-linen, and pulled out another viciously. “You should have married a man like father,” she said. “That’s the sort of husband you should have had, who would have pulled you out of bed by your hair and given you a good sound hiding. Daniel’s thousands of miles too good for you.” Lizzie turned round and faced her passionately, straining at the ends of her stay-lace. “I wish sometimes he would beat me. There! I’ll make him do it one of these days.” “Dan’s not the man to treat his wife like a dog.” “No. He treats me like a tabby-cat--beneath his notice. He has always done it. I may be a silly fool, but it doesn’t require much intellec’ to know when folks look upon you as the dirt beneath their feet.” “Well, the dirt ought to be grateful when a man like Daniel condescends to put his foot upon it,” replied Emily with conviction. “Why didn’t you marry him yourself?” said Lizzie witheringly. “Elizabeth Goddard, you’re no better than a fool,” returned Emily. “And if you’ve nothing pleasanter to say, I’ll go back home.”