Thyrza was silent for a little. then she said: 

‘I can’t go with him alone, Lyddy.  I don’t mind if you go too.’

‘But that’s just what he doesn’t want,’ said her sister, with a smile which was not quite natural.

Thyrza averted her eyes, and began to speak of something else.  The meal was quickly over, then Lydia took up some sewing.  Thyrza went to the window and stood for a while looking at the people that passed, but presently she seated herself, and fell into the brooding which her sister’s entrance had interrupted.  Lydia also was quieter than usual; her eyes often wandered from her work to Thyrza.  At last she leaned forward and said: 

‘What are you thinking of, Blue-eyes?’

Thyrza drew a deep sigh.

’I don’t know, Lyddy.  It’s so hot, I don’t feel able to do anything.’

’But you’re always thinking and thinking.  What is it that troubles you?’

‘I feel dull.’

‘Why don’t you like to go out with Mr. Ackroyd?’ Lydia asked.

‘Why do you so much want me to, Lyddy?’

’Because he thinks a great deal of you, and it would be nice if you got to like him.’

‘But I shan’t, never;—­I know I shan’t.’

‘Why not, dear?’

’I don’t dislike him, but he mustn’t get to think it’s any thing else.  I’ll go out with him if you’ll go as well,’ she added, fixing her eyes on Lydia’s.

The latter bent to pick up a reel of cotton.

‘We’ll see when to-morrow comes,’ she said.

Silence again fell between them, whilst Lydia’s fingers worked rapidly.  The evening drew on.  Thyrza took her chair to the window, leaned upon the sill, and looked up at the reddening sky.  The windows of the other houses were all open; here and there women talked from them with friends across the street.  People were going backwards and forwards with bags and baskets, on the business of Saturday evening; in the distance sounded the noise of the market in Lambeth Walk.

Shortly after eight o’clock Lydia said

’I’ll just go round with my boots, and get something for dinner to-morrow.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Thyrza said.  ’I can’t bear to sit here any longer.’

They went forth, and were soon in the midst of the market.  Lambeth Walk is a long, narrow street, and at this hour was so thronged with people that an occasional vehicle with difficulty made slow passage.  On the outer edges of the pavement, in front of the busy shops, were rows of booths, stalls, and harrows, whereon meat, vegetables, fish, and household requirements of indescribable variety were exposed for sale.  The vendors vied with one another in uproarious advertisement of their goods.  In vociferation the butchers doubtless excelled; their ‘Lovely, lovely, lovely!’ and their reiterated ’Buy, buy, buy!’ rang clangorous above the hoarse roaring of costermongers and the din of those who clattered pots and pans.