Lydia went her way.  For a wonder, there was no fog tonight, but the street lamps glistened on wet pavements, and vehicles as they rattled along sent mud-volleys to either side.  In passing through Lambeth Walk, Lydia stopped at the clothing shop of which Thyrza had spoken.  The particular brownish coat had seemingly been carried off by a purchaser, but she was glad to notice one or two second-hand garments of very respectable appearance which came within the sum at her command.  She passed on into Paradise Street and entered Mrs. Bower’s shop.

In the parlour the portly Mr. Bower stood with his back to the fire; he was speaking oracularly, and, at Lydia’s entrance, looked up with some annoyance at being interrupted.  Mr. Boddy sat in his accustomed corner.  Mrs. Bower, arrayed in the grandeur suitable to a winter evening, was condescending to sew.

‘Mary out?’ Lydia asked, as she looked round.

‘Yes, my dear,’ replied Mrs. Bower, with a sigh of resignation.  ‘She’s at a prayer meetin’, as per us’l.  That’s the third night this blessed week.  I ‘old with goin’ to chapel, but like everything else it ought to be done in moderation.  Mary’s gettin’ beyond everything.  I don’t believe in makin’ such a fuss o’ religion; you can be religious in your mind without sayin’ prayers an’ singin’ ’ymns all the week long.  There’s the Sunday for that, an’ I can’t see as it’s pleasin’ to God neither to do so much of it at other times.  Now suppose I give somebody credit in the shop, on the understandin’ as they come an’ pay their bill once a week reg’lar; do you think I should like to have ’em lookin’ in two or three times every day an’ cryin’ out:  “Oh, Mrs. Bower, ma’am, I don’t forget as I owe you so and so much; be sure I shall come an’ pay on Saturday!” If they did that, I should precious soon begin to think there was something wrong, else they’d ‘old their tongues an’ leave it to be understood as they was honest.  Why, an’ it’s every bit the same with religion!’

Mr. Boddy listened gravely to this, and had the air of probing the suggested analogy.  He had a bad cold, poor old man, and for the moment it made him look as if he indulged too freely in ardent beverages; his nose was red and his eyes were watery.

‘How’s the little un, my dear?’ he asked, as Lydia took a seat by him.

’Oh, she’s much better, grandad.  Mrs. Grail is so kind to her, you wouldn’t believe.  She’ll be all right again by Monday, I think.’

‘Mrs. Grail’s kind to her, is she?’ remarked Mr. Bower.  Why, you’re getting great friends with the Grails, Miss Lydia.’

‘Yes, we really are.’

‘And do you see much of Grail himself?’

‘No, not much.  We sometimes have tea with them both.’

’Ah, you do?  He’s a very decent, quiet fellow, is Grail.  I dare say he tells you something about Egremont now and then?’