‘Oh, is that you, Miss Snowdon!’ exclaimed the other, returning to consciousness and manifesting some shame at being discovered in this position.  Hastily she drew together the front of her dress, which for the baby’s sake had been wide open, and rose to her feet.  Pennyloaf was not a bit more womanly in figure than on the day of her marriage; her voice was still an immature treble; the same rueful irresponsibility marked her features; but all her poor prettiness was wasted under the disfigurement of pains and cares, Incongruously enough, she wore a gown of bright-patterned calico, and about her neck had a collar of pretentious lace; her hair was dressed as if for a holiday, and a daub recently made on her cheeks by the baby’s fingers lent emphasis to the fact that she had but a little while ago washed herself with much care.

‘I can’t stop,’ said Jane, ’but I thought I’d just look in and speak a word.  How have you been getting on?’

‘Oh, do come in for just a minute!’ pleaded Pennyloaf, moving backwards to an open door, whither Jane followed.  They entered a room—­much like other rooms that we have looked into from time to time.  Following the nomadic custom of their kind, Bob Hewett and his wife had lived in six or seven different lodgings since their honeymoon in Shooter’s Gardens.  Mrs. Candy first of all made a change necessary, as might have been anticipated, and the restlessness of domestic ill-being subsequently drove them from place to place.  ’Come in ‘ere, Johnny,’ she Called to the child lying on the landing.  ‘What’s the good o’ washin’ you, I’d like to know?  Just see, Miss Snowdon, he’s made his face all white with the milk as the boy spilt on the stairs!  Take this brush an’ play with it, do!  I can’t keep ’em clean, Miss Snowdon, so it’s no use talkin’.’

‘Are you going somewhere to-night?’ Jane inquired, with a glance at the strange costume.

Pennyloaf looked up and down in a shamefaced way.

’I only did it just because I thought he might like to see me.  He promised me faithful as he’d come ’ome to-night, and I thought—­ it’s only somethink as got into my ‘ed to-day, Miss Snowdon.’

‘But hasn’t he been coming home since I saw you last?’

‘He did just once, an’ then it was all the old ways again.  I did what you told me; I did, as sure as I’m a-standin’ ’ere!  I made the room so clean you wouldn’t have believed; I scrubbed the floor an’ the table, an’ I washed the winders—­you can see they ain’t dirty yet.  An’ he’d never a’ paid a bit o’ notice if I hadn’t told him, He was jolly enough for one night, just like he can be when he likes.  But I knew as it wouldn’t last, an’ the next night he was off with a lot o’ fellers an’ girls, same as ever.  I didn’t make no row when he came ‘ome; I wish I may die if I said a word to set his back up!  An’ I’ve gone on just the same all the week; we haven’t had not the least bit of a row; so you see I kep’ my promise.  But it’s