surprised had
he seen the expression on Mrs. Bindle's face as she coaxed and crooned
over the girl lying on the bed upstairs.

When she finally returned to the kitchen, Bindle, his supper finished,
had made up his mind to a great sacrifice. For a few seconds they
stood regarding each other. It was Bindle who broke the silence.

"Lizzie," he said awkwardly, "I'll go to chapel on Sunday if you like."

And then for no reason at all Mrs. Bindle sat down at the table, buried
her face in her arms and sobbed convulsively.

"I wonder wot I done now," muttered Bindle, as he regarded Mrs.
Bindle's heaving shoulders with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Funny things, women."

CHAPTER XXI

CONCLUSION

"So 'Earty comes round in the mornin' an' says 'e's sorry, an'
Millikins she be'aves jest like a little princess, 'oldin' 'er 'ead as
'igh as 'igh, an' agrees to go back, an' everybody lives 'appy ever
after, everybody 'cept me. Since that night Mrs. B. 'as given me
pickles. I don't understand it," he added in a puzzled way; "seems as
if she's sort of 'uffy cause she dripped a bit."

"I think that is what it must be," remarked Mrs. Dick Little. "You
must be gentle with her."

"Gentle! You don't know Mrs. B., miss, I mean mum. When Mrs. B.'s at
one end o' the broom an' you're within range o' the dust she raises,
it's nippy you got to be, not gentle."

Mrs. Little laughed.

It was a fortnight after the events at Mr. Hearty's house that had led
up to Millie's leaving home, and Bindle was seated with the Littles in
their new flat in Chelsea Palace Mansions.

"Yes," continued Bindle, after a pause, "them two love-birds is
engaged, and Charlie Dixon's enlisted, an' Millie's as proud as an 'en
wot's laid an egg. 'Earty's a different man; but it's Mrs. B. wot does
me. She'd take the edge orf a chisel. Gentle! I'd like to meet the
man 'oo'd got the pluck to try it on wi' Mrs. B." And Bindle laughed
good-humouredly.

"An' to think," continued Bindle, looking quizzically from Dick Little
to his wife, "to think that I 'elped you two to get tied up."

Mrs. Little laughed gaily, and Bindle drank deeply of a large glass of
ale at his elbow.

"I'm afraid you're a terrible misogynist, Mr. Bindle," said Mrs. Little.

"A wot, mum?" queried Bindle, with corrugated brow.

"A woman-hater," explained Little.

"There you're wrong, mum, if yer'll allow me to say so; I don' 'ate
women."

"But," persisted Mrs. Litt