ey fancy more. See? It's a little way they
got. All goes on inside their heads, and shakes about. People like me
haven't got time to think a lot of muck. We _do_ things ... and do them
thorough."

Mrs. Minto, reproved, sank into contemplation.

"Well, I don't know, Sally," she went on, after a pause. "You talk a
lot. I'd rather think than talk. You say he's rich. Sometimes girls get
left."

"Not me, though," Sally assured her. "Soppy ones do. I'm not soppy. And
I'll tell you what. I'm going to get you out of this place."

"I ain't going to live with you and him!" declared Mrs. Minto in alarm.
"I wouldn't!"

"No. You're going to live somewhere else. I want you to get away from
here. You're going to have two decent rooms ... in Stoke Newington. Real
paper on the walls, and a carpet, and new mattress that isn't like two
horse troughs."

"I won't take nothing from him."

"No. From me. Out of my wages."

"You ain't going to have.... Don't be silly. I'm well off where I am."

"I'm going to keep on at Madam's. I'm going to have plenty money. And
you're going to move. Got it? I'll see about it to-morrow night, get you
in Thursday or Friday. Won't take an hour to settle you in. Then you'll
be comfortable."

"I'm very well as I am," said Mrs. Minto, obstinately. "I can keep
myself. I'm not going to sponge on you. Not likely."

"You'll move Thursday or Friday, I tell you."

It was final. The poor thin little old woman had no fight in her. She
looked up at Sally, and her face was the anxious face of a monkey, or of
a sick beast that is being tended. Now that she had been comforted about
Sally she had nothing left to say. She made a last feeble effort.

"I don't want to move. Mrs. Roberson...."

"Fiddlesticks!"

"My 'ead!"

"Your head'll get better if you keep quiet and have real coal and a bath
or two." Sally was imperious, and enjoyingly so. Her spirits had risen.
She was a general. She looked down protectingly at her mother, and a
ghost of ancient love rose breathing in her heart. "Silly old thing!"
she murmured, with a touch of softness; and knelt suddenly. "Got to look
after you a bit," she added. "It's you who's the baby now. What a lot of
kids people are! Makes me feel a hundred--and over--when I see what
fools they are. I'm sorry for you, and that's the truth. You and Miss
Summers and Gaga."

"Who's Gaga?"

"He's Mr. Sally Minto," said Sally with mystic insolence. "That's who
Gaga is. He calls himsel