between her and her child.  They spoke little to anyone else, or when anyone else was by; but, when alone together, they talked, and murmured, and cooed, and chattered so continually, that Mr Openshaw first wondered what they could find to say to each other, and next became irritated because they were always so grave and silent with him.  All this time he was perpetually devising small new pleasures for the child.  His thoughts ran, in a pertinacious way, upon the desolate life before her; and often he came back from his day’s work loaded with the very thing Alice had been longing for, but had not been able to procure.  One time, it was a little chair for drawing the little sufferer along the streets; and, many an evening that following summer, Mr Openshaw drew her along himself, regardless of the remarks of his acquaintances.  One day in autumn, he put down his newspaper, as Alice came in with the breakfast, and said, in as indifferent a voice as he could assume: 

’Mrs Frank, is there any reason why we two should not put up our horses together?’

Alice stood still in perplexed wonder.  What did he mean?  He had resumed the reading of his newspaper, as if he did not expect any answer; so she found silence her safest course, and went on quietly arranging his breakfast, without another word passing between them.  Just as he was leaving the house, to go to the warehouse as usual, he turned back and put his head into the bright, neat, tidy kitchen, where all the women breakfasted in the morning: 

‘You’ll think of what I said, Mrs Frank’ (this was her name with the lodgers), ‘and let me have your opinion upon it tonight.’

Alice was thankful that her mother and Norah were too busy talking together to attend much to this speech.  She determined not to think about it at all through the day; and, of course, the effort not to think made her think all the more.  At night she sent up Norah with his tea.  But Mr Openshaw almost knocked Norah down as she was going out at the door, by pushing past her and calling out, ‘Mrs Frank!’ in an impatient voice, at the top of the stairs.

Alice went up, rather than seem to have affixed too much meaning to his words.

‘Well, Mrs Frank,’ he said, ’what answer?  Don’t make it too long; for I have lots of office work to get through tonight.’

‘I hardly know what you meant, sir,’ said truthful Alice.

’Well!  I should have thought you might have guessed.  You’re not new at this sort of work, and I am.  However, I’ll make it plain this time.  Will you have me to be thy wedded husband, and serve me, and love me, and honour me, and all that sort of thing?  Because, if you will, I will do as much by you, and be a father to your child—­and that’s more than is put in the prayer-book.  Now, I’m a man of my word; and what I say, I feel; and what I promise, I’ll do.  Now, for your answer!’

Alice was silent.  He began to make the tea, as if her reply was a matter of perfect indifference to him; but, as soon as that was done, he became impatient.