Pennyloaf smiled, sadly but with affection in her eyes.  ’Well, I have been a bit low, an’ that’s the truth.  It takes me sometimes, you know.  I’ve been thinkin’, when I’d oughtn’t.’

’Same with me, Pennyloaf.  We can’t help thinking, can we?  What a good thing if we’d nothing more to think about than these children!  Where’s little Bob?  Why, Bob, I thought you were old clothes; I did, really!  You may well laugh!’

The laughter was merry, and Jane encouraged it, inventing all sorts of foolish jokes.  ‘Pennyloaf, I wish you’d ask me to stay to tea.’

‘Then that I will, Miss Jane, an’ gladly.  Would you like it soon?’

’No; in an hour will do, won’t it?  Give me something that wants sewing, a really hard bit, something that’ll break needles.  Yes, that’ll do.  Where’s Mrs. Todd’s thimble?  Now we’re all going to be comfortable, and we’ll have a good talk.’

Pennyloaf found the dark thoughts slip away insensibly.  And she talked, she talked—­where was there such a talker as Pennyloaf nowadays, when she once began?

Mr. Byass was not very willing, after all, to give up his country travelling.  That his departure on that business befell at a moment of domestic quarrel was merely chance; secretly he had made the arrangement with his firm some weeks before.  The penitence which affected him upon Jane’s appeal could not be of abiding result; for, like all married men at a certain point of their lives, he felt heartily tired of home and wished to see the world a little.  Hanover Street heard endless discussions of the point between Sam and Bessie, between Bessie and Jane, between Jane and Sam, between all three together.  And the upshot was that Mr. Byass gained his point.  For a time he would go on country journeys.  Bessie assented sullenly, but, strange to say, she had never been in better spirits than on the day after this decision had been arrived at.

On that day, however—­it was early in March—­an annoying incident happened.  Mr. Scawthorne, who always dined in town and seldom returned to his lodgings till late in the evening, rang his bell about eight o’clock and sent a message by the servant that he wished to see Mrs. Byass.  Bessie having come up, he announced to her with gravity that his tenancy of the rooms would be at an end in a fortnight.  Various considerations necessitated his livin in a different part of London.  Bessie frankly lamented; she would never again find such an estimable lodger.  But, to be sure, Mr. Scawthorne had prepared her for this, three months ago.  Well, what must be, must be.

‘Is Miss Snowdon in the house, Mrs. Byass?’ Scawthorne went on to inquire.

‘Miss Snowdon?  Yes.’

’This letter from America, which I found on coming in, contains news she must hear—­disagreeable news, I’m sorry to say.’

‘About her father?’ Bessie inquired anxiously.

Scawthorne nodded a grave and confidential affirmative.  He had never given Mrs. Byass reason to suppose that he knew anything of Joseph’s whereabouts, but Bessie’s thoughts naturally turned in that direction.