e I thought he might like to see me. He
promised me faithful as he'd come 'ome to-night, and I thought--it's
only somethink as got into my 'ed to-day, Miss Snowdon.'

'But hasn't he been coming home since I saw you last?'

'He did just once, an' then it was all the old ways again. I did what
you told me; I did, as sure as I'm a-standin' 'ere! I made the room so
clean you wouldn't have believed; I scrubbed the floor an' the table,
an' I washed the winders--you can see they ain't dirty yet. An' he'd
never a' paid a bit o' notice if I hadn't told him, He was jolly enough
for one night, just like he can be when he likes. But I knew as it
wouldn't last, an' the next night he was off with a lot o' fellers an'
girls, same as ever. I didn't make no row when he came 'ome; I wish I
may die if I said a word to set his back up! An' I've gone on just the
same all the week; we haven't had not the least bit of a row; so you
see I kep' my promise. But it's no good; he won't come 'ome; he's
always got fellers an' girls to go round with. He took his hoath as
he'd come back to-night, an' then it come into my 'ed as I'd put my
best things on, just to--you know what I mean, Miss Snowdon. But he
won't come before twelve o'clock; I know he won't. An' I get that low
sittin' 'ere, you can't think I can't go nowhere, because o' the
children. If it wasn't for them I could go to work again, an' I'd be
that glad; I feel as if my 'ed would drop off sometimes! I _ham_ so
glad you just come in!'

Jane had tried so many forms of encouragement, of consolation, on
previous occasions that she knew not how to repeat herself. She was
ashamed to speak words which sounded so hollow and profitless. This
silence was only too significant to Pennyloaf, and in a moment she
exclaimed with querulous energy:

'I know what'll be the bend of it! I'll go an' do like mother does--I
will! I will! I'll put my ring away, an' I'll go an' sit all night in
the public-'ouse! It's what all the others does, an' I'll do the same.
I often feel I'm a fool to go on like this. I don't know what I live
for, P'r'aps he'll be sorry when I get run in like mother.'

'Don't talk like that, Pennyloaf!' cried Jane, stamping her foot, (It
was odd how completely difference of character had reversed their
natural relations to each other; Pennyloaf was the child, Jane the
mature woman.) 'You know better, and you've no right to give way to
such thoughts. I was going to say I'd come and be wit