er in his syntax, but his imitator had, no doubt, the advantage in
other points. Richard perused his composition several times, and sent it
to the post.

At eleven o'clock Mrs. Mutimer descended to the hall, ready for her
journey. She would not enter any room. Her eldest son came out to meet
her, and got rid of the servant who had fetched a cab.

'Good-bye for the present, mother,' he said, giving his hand 'I hope
you'll find everything just as you wish it.'

'If I don't, I shan't complain,' was the cold reply.

The old woman had clad herself, since her retreat, in the garments of
former days; and the truth must be told that they did not add to the
dignity of her appearance. Probably no costume devisable could surpass
in ignoble ugliness the attire of an English working-class widow when
she appears in the streets. The proximity of Alice, always becomingly
clad, drew attention to the poor mother's plebeian guise. Richard,
watching her enter the cab, felt for the first time a distinct shame.
His feelings might have done him more credit but for the repulse he had
suffered.

'Arry contented himself with standing at the front-room window, his
hands in his pockets.

Later in the same day Daniel Dabbs, who had by chance been following the
British workman's practice and devoting Monday to recreation, entered
an omnibus in which Mrs. Clay was riding. She had a heavy bundle on her
lap, shopwork which she was taking home. Daniel had already received
Mutimer's reply, and was nursing a fit of anger. He seated himself by
Kate's side, and conversed with her.

'Heard anything from _him_ lately?' he asked, with a motion of the head
which rendered mention of names unnecessary.

'Not we,' Kate replied bitterly, her eyes fixing themselves in scorn.

'No loss,' remarked Daniel, with an expression of disgust.

'He'll hear from _me_ some day,' said the woman, 'and in a way as he
won't like.'

The noise of the vehicle did not favour conversation. Daniel waited till
Kate got out, then he too descended, and walked along by her side. He
did not offer to relieve her of the bundle in primitive societies woman
is naturally the burden-bearer.

'I wouldn't a' thought it o' Dick,' he said, his head thrust forward,
and his eyes turning doggedly from side to side. They say as how
too much money ain't good for a man, but it's changed _him_ past all
knowin'.'

'He always had a good deal too much to say for himself,' remarked Mrs.
Clay, spe