“They live on Jordan Street in a house, and Laura has roller skates.  I don’t see why I can’t.”

This was one of the occasions on which Hannah had given vent to her indignation.  Lise was fourteen.  Her open rebellion was less annoying than Janet’s silent reproach, but at least she had something to take hold of.

“Well, Lise,” she said, shifting the saucepan to another part of the stove, “I guess if your father and I had put both you girls in the mills and crowded into one room and cooked in a corner, and lived on onions and macaroni, and put four boarders each in the other rooms, I guess we could have had a house, too.  We can start in right now, if you’re willing.”

But Lise had only looked darker.

“I don’t see why father can’t make money—­other men do.”

“Isn’t he working as hard as he can to send you to school, and give you a chance?”

“I don’t want that kind of a chance.  There’s Sadie Howard at school—­she don’t have to work.  She liked me before she found out where I lived...”

There was an element of selfishness in Hannah’s mania for keeping busy, for doing all their housework and cooking herself.  She could not bear to have her daughters interfere; perhaps she did not want to give herself time to think.  Her affection for Edward, such as it was, her loyalty to him, was the logical result of a conviction ingrained in early youth that marriage was an indissoluble bond; a point of views once having a religious sanction, no less powerful now that—­all unconsciously—­it had deteriorated into a superstition.  Hannah, being a fatalist, was not religious.  The beliefs of other days, when she had donned her best dress and gone to church on Sundays, had simply lapsed and left—­habits.  No new beliefs had taken their place....

Even after Janet and Lise had gone to work the household never seemed to gain that margin of safety for which Hannah yearned.  Always, when they were on the verge of putting something by, some untoward need or accident seemed to arise on purpose to swallow it up:  Edward, for instance, had been forced to buy a new overcoat, the linoleum on the dining-room floor must be renewed, and Lise had had a spell of sickness, losing her position in a flower shop.  Afterwards, when she became a saleslady in the Bagatelle, that flamboyant department store in Faber Street, she earned four dollars and a half a week.  Two of these were supposed to go into the common fund, but there were clothes to buy; Lise loved finery, and Hannah had not every week the heart to insist.  Even when, on an occasional Saturday night the girl somewhat consciously and defiantly flung down the money on the dining-room table she pretended not to notice it.  But Janet, who was earning six dollars as a stenographer in the office of the Chippering Mill, regularly gave half of hers.

The girls could have made more money as operatives, but strangely enough in the Bumpus family social hopes were not yet extinct.