if you say
you want to be married. I think it would be sweet to be married, but you
should never ask for a wedding. They give you everything else, but if
you say you want a wedding, they stamp their feet and go away. Why are
you crying, girl? You should not cry; they don't like it. Put on your
prettiest gown and laugh and pretend you are happy, and then they will
tell you naughty stories and give you these." She felt her ears and
looked at her fingers, on which there may once have been jewels, but
there were none now.

"If you cry you lose your complexion, and then they don't love you any
more. I had always such a beautiful skin. Some ladies when they lose
their complexion paint. Horrid, isn't it? I wonder they can do such a
thing."

She eyed Elspeth suspiciously. "But of course you might do it just a
little," she said, pleadingly--"just to make them go on loving you,
don't you think?

"When they don't want to come any more they write you a letter, and you
run with it to your room and kiss it, because you don't know what is
inside. Then you open it, and that breaks your heart, you know." She
nodded her head sagaciously and smiled with tears in her eyes. "Never,
never, never open the letter. Keep it unopened on your breast, and then
you can always think that he may come to-morrow. And if--"

Someone was approaching, and she stopped and listened. "My brat!" she
cried, furiously, "she is always following me," and she poured forth a
torrent of filthy abuse of Grizel, in the midst of which Tommy (for it
was he) appeared and carried Elspeth off hastily. This was the only
conversation either child ever had with the Painted Lady, and it bore
bad fruit for Grizel. Elspeth told some of the Monypenny women about it,
and they thought it their duty to point out to Aaron that the Painted
Lady and her child were not desirable acquaintances for Tommy and
Elspeth.

"I dinna ken," he answered sharply, "whether Tommy's a fit acquaintance
for Grizel, but I'm very sure o' this, that she's more than a fit
acquaintance for him. And look at what she has done for this house. I
kenna what we should do if she didna come in nows and nans."

"You ken well, Aaron," they said, "that onything we could do in the way
o' keeping your house in order we should do gladly."

"Thank you," he replied ungraciously, "but I would rather have her."

Nevertheless he agreed that he ought to forbid any intercourse with the
Painted Lady, and unfortunately Gr