“There!” said the pedler.  “Three pound ten!  Dirt-cheap.  Going, you may say, for nothing, and because it’s the last piece I have of it.  Lady Georgiana paid me seven pounds for the length I cut her this morning.  I’d like to see you in this dress, Miss Matty, and, maybe, if all reports is true, you’ll want me to sell you something different, and more—­more—­well, more, perhaps, bridal-like, by-and-bye, my pretty young lady.”

This last speech finished the fate of the silk.  If rumor had reached down to the strata of pedlers, etc., it simply could not be disregarded.  Mrs. Bell bargained and haggled for the best part of an hour.  She stripped herself of many necessary garments, and even ransacked her very meagre little collection of jewelry.  Finally the purchase was completed with the sale of the ring which Bell had given her on the day when he had gone down on his knees for the third and successful time.  That ring, of a showy style, but made of real gold and real gems, was beloved by Mrs. Bell above all her worldly goods.  Nevertheless, she parted with it to make up the necessary price for the shot silk; for, what will not a mother do for her child?

CHAPTER XII.

NINA, YOU ARE SO PERSISTENT.

“I wish you wouldn’t worry me so, miss.”

“Well, answer my question.  Has Mr. Hart come back?”

“Yes—­no—­I’m sure I can’t say.  Maybe he’s in his room, maybe he’s not.  You do look dirty, miss, and tired—­my word, awful tired.  Now, where have you been, Miss Josephine, since early yesterday morning?  After no good, I’ll be bound.  Oh, dear me, yes, after no good!  You’re a wild one, and you’re a daring one; and you’ll come to a bad end, for all your eyes are so bright, if you don’t mind.”

Josephine’s queer, restless eyes flashed with an angry gleam.

“Do you know what this is?” she said, doubling up her small hand, and thrusting the hard-looking fist within an inch or two of her irate landlady’s nose.  “I knocked a man down before now with this, and I have no respect for women.  You’d better not anger me, Mrs. Timms.”

“Oh, dear no, miss, I’m sure I meant no disrespect!”

“That’s right.  Don’t say what you don’t mean in future.”

“I won’t, Miss Josephine.  Now I come to think of it, I expect Hart is at home; I heard him shuffling about overhead last night.”

“I’ll go up and see,” said Josephine.

She nodded to Mrs. Timms, and walked slowly, as though she were dead tired, and every step was an effort to her, up the stairs.  They were rickety stairs, very dirty and dark, and unkept.  Josephine went on and on, until her upward ascent ended under a sloping attic roof.  Here she knocked at a closed door.

“Come in,” said a voice.

She entered a long, low room, which did service as a sitting-room, kitchen and studio, all combined.  A little, old man with a long, white beard and a bald head was bending over a stove, frying eggs.