’Well, I like that, Totty!  Was I to let him insult you and just stand by?’

’Oh, I don’t mean that.  But it wouldn’t have happened at all but for you going on drinking—­you know that very well, Mr. Ackroyd.’

’I suppose it wouldn’t.  It doesn’t matter.  I just wanted to see you’d got home all right.  Good-night!’

‘Good-night!  Mind you get home safe, that’s all.’

She turned away.  He turned away.  But he was back before she had crossed the street.

‘I say, Totty!’

‘What is it?’

‘You haven’t told me what you were doing, standing here.’

‘I don’t see as it matters to you, Mr. Ackroyd.’

‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.  Well, good-night!’

‘Good-night!’

Each again turned to depart; again Ackroyd came hack.

‘Totty!’

‘What is it, Mr. Ackroyd?’ she exclaimed, fretfully.

’I can’t for the life of me make out what you were doing standing there.’

‘I don’t see as it’s any business of yours, Mr. Ackroyd.’

’Still, I’d rather you told me.  I suppose you were waiting for somebody?’

‘If you must know—­yes, I was.’

‘H’m, I thought so.  Well, I won’t stop to be in the way.’

‘I say, Mr. Ackroyd!’

‘Yes?’

’There’s a notice outside the station as says a man has deserted his wife.’

‘Is there?  How do you know?’

‘I read it.’

‘Oh, you’ve been waiting there, have you?’

’And another thing.  It wasn’t no use you looking up at Thyrza Trent’s window.  She’s away.’

‘How do you know I looked up?’

He came nearer, a smile on his face.  Totty averted her eyes.

‘I suppose it wasn’t me you were waiting for, Totty?’ She said nothing.

‘Give me a kiss, Totty.’

‘I’m sure I shan’t, Mr. Ackroyd!’

‘Then let me take one.’

She made no resistance.

‘When, Totty?’ he whispered, drawing her near.

’Next Christmas, if you haven’t taken a drop too much before then. 
If I find out you have—­it’s no good you coming after Totty
Nancarrow.’

She walked with him to the end of the street, then watched him to his house.  She was pleased; she was ashamed; she was afraid.  Turning to go home, she crossed herself and murmured something.

CHAPTER XVIII

DRAWING NEARER

Lydia had a little rule of self-discipline which deserved to be, and was, its own reward.  If ever personal troubles began to worry her she diligently bent her thoughts upon someone for whose welfare she was anxious, and whom she might possibly aid.  The rule had to submit to an emphatic exception; the person to be thought of must be any one save that particular one whose welfare she especially desired, and whom she might perchance have aided if she had made a great endeavour.  However, the rule itself had become established long before this exception was dreamt of.  Formerly she was wont to occupy her mind with Thyrza.  Now that her sister seemed all but beyond need of anxious guarding, and that the necessity for applying the rule was greater than ever before, Lydia gave her attention to Mr. Boddy.