“If you cry you lose your complexion, and then they don’t love you any more.  I had always such a beautiful skin.  Some ladies when they lose their complexion paint.  Horrid, isn’t it?  I wonder they can do such a thing.”

She eyed Elspeth suspiciously.  “But of course you might do it just a little,” she said, pleadingly—­“just to make them go on loving you, don’t you think?

“When they don’t want to come any more they write you a letter, and you run with it to your room and kiss it, because you don’t know what is inside.  Then you open it, and that breaks your heart, you know.”  She nodded her head sagaciously and smiled with tears in her eyes.  “Never, never, never open the letter.  Keep it unopened on your breast, and then you can always think that he may come to-morrow.  And if—­”

Someone was approaching, and she stopped and listened.  “My brat!” she cried, furiously, “she is always following me,” and she poured forth a torrent of filthy abuse of Grizel, in the midst of which Tommy (for it was he) appeared and carried Elspeth off hastily.  This was the only conversation either child ever had with the Painted Lady, and it bore bad fruit for Grizel.  Elspeth told some of the Monypenny women about it, and they thought it their duty to point out to Aaron that the Painted Lady and her child were not desirable acquaintances for Tommy and Elspeth.

“I dinna ken,” he answered sharply, “whether Tommy’s a fit acquaintance for Grizel, but I’m very sure o’ this, that she’s more than a fit acquaintance for him.  And look at what she has done for this house.  I kenna what we should do if she didna come in nows and nans.”

“You ken well, Aaron,” they said, “that onything we could do in the way o’ keeping your house in order we should do gladly.”

“Thank you,” he replied ungraciously, “but I would rather have her.”

Nevertheless he agreed that he ought to forbid any intercourse with the Painted Lady, and unfortunately Grizel heard of this.  Probably there never would have been any such intercourse; Grizel guarded against it more than anyone, for reasons she never spoke of, but she resented this veto proudly.

“Why must you not speak to my mamma?” she demanded of Tommy and Elspeth.

“Because—­because she is a queer one,” he said.

“She is not a queer one—­she is just sweet.”

He tried to evade the question by saying weakly, “We never see her to speak to at any rate, so it will make no difference.  It’s no as if you ever asked us to come to Double Dykes.”

“But I ask you now,” said Grizel, with flashing eyes.

“Oh, I darena!” cried Elspeth.

“Then I won’t ever come into your house again,” said Grizel, decisively.

“No to redd up?” asked Tommy, incredulously.  “No to bake nor to iron?  You couldna help it.”

“Yes I could.”

“Think what you’ll miss!”