“Married!” she exclaimed.  “My mother told me about that.  You do not belong to yourself:  you are tied down.  You are a slave, a drudge; mustn’t dream, mustn’t think!  I hate it.  By-and-by, I suppose it will happen.  Not yet!  And yet that man offered to take me to Italy.  It was the Jew gentleman.  He said I should make money, if he took me, and grow as rich as princesses.  He brought a friend to hear me, another Jew gentleman; and he was delighted, and he met me near our door the very next morning, and offered me a ring with blue stones, and he proposed to marry me also, and take me to Italy, if I would give up his friend and choose him instead.  This man did not touch me, and, do you know, for some time I really thought I almost, very nearly, might,—­if it had not been for his face!  It was impossible to go to Italy—­yes, to go to heaven! through that face of his!  That face of his was just like the pictures of dancing men with animals’ hairy legs and hoofs in an old thick poetry book belonging to my mother.  Just fancy a nose that seemed to be pecking at great fat red lips!  He met me and pressed me to go continually, till all of a sudden up came the first Jew gentleman, and he cried out quite loud in the street that he was being robbed by the other; and they stood and made a noise in the street, and I ran away.  But then I heard that my father had borrowed money from the one who came first, and that his violin came from that man; and my father told me the violin would be taken from him, and he would have to go to prison, if I did not marry that man.  I went and cried in my mother’s arms.  I shall never forget her kindness; for though she could never see anybody crying without crying herself, she did not, and was quiet as a mouse, because she knew how her voice hurt me.  There’s a large print-shop in one of the great streets of London, with coloured views of Italy.  I used to go there once, and stand there for I don’t know how long, looking at them, and trying to get those Jew gentlemen—­”

“Call them Jews—­they’re not gentlemen,” interposed Wilfrid.

“Jews,” she obeyed the dictate, “out of my mind.  When I saw the views of Italy they danced and grinned up and down the pictures.  Oh, horrible!  There was no singing for me then.  My music died.  At last that oldish lady gave up her lessons, and said to me, ’You little rogue! you will do what I do, some day;’ for she was going to be married to that young man who thought her voice so much improved; and she paid me three pounds, and gave me one pound more, and some ribbons and gloves.  I went at once to my mother, and made her give me five pounds out of the gentleman’s purse.  I took my harp and music-scores.  I did not know where I was going, but only that I could not stop.  My mother cried:  but she helped to pack my things.  If she disobeys me I act my father, and tower over her, and frown, and make her mild.  She was such a poor good slave to me that day! but I trusted her