noticed that Polly avoided her.

'Wot's up, Polly?' she said to her one day. 'You never speaks now;
'ave you 'ad yer tongue cut aht?'

'Me? I ain't got nothin' ter speak abaht, thet I knows of,' answered
Polly, abruptly walking off. Liza grew very red and quickly looked to
see if anyone had noticed the incident. A couple of youths, sitting on
the pavement, had seen it, and she saw them nudge one another and
wink.

Then the fellows about the street began to chaff her.

'You look pale,' said one of a group to her one day.

'You're overworkin' yerself, you are,' said another.

'Married life don't agree with Liza, thet's wot it is,' added a third.

''Oo d'yer think yer gettin' at? I ain't married, an' never like ter
be,' she answered.

'Liza 'as all the pleasures of a 'usband an' none of the trouble.'

'Bli'me if I know wot yer mean!' said Liza.

'Na, of course not; you don't know nothin', do yer?'

'Innocent as a bibe. Our Father which art in 'eaven!'

''Aven't been in London long, 'ave yer?'

They spoke in chorus, and Liza stood in front of them, bewildered, not
knowing what to answer.

'Don't you mike no mistake abaht it, Liza knows a thing or two.'

'O me darlin', I love yer fit to kill, but tike care your missus ain't
round the corner.' This was particularly bold, and they all laughed.

Liza felt very uncomfortable, and fiddled about with her apron,
wondering how she should get away.

'Tike care yer don't git into trouble, thet's all,' said one of the
men, with burlesque gravity.

'Yer might give us a chanst, Liza, you come aht with me one evenin'.
You oughter give us all a turn, just ter show there's no ill-feelin'.'

'Bli'me if I know wot yer all talkin' abaht. You're all barmy on the
crumpet,' said Liza indignantly, and, turning her back on them, made
for home.

Among other things that had happened was Sally's marriage. One
Saturday a little procession had started from Vere Street, consisting
of Sally, in a state of giggling excitement, her fringe magnificent
after a whole week of curling-papers, clad in a perfectly new
velveteen dress of the colour known as electric blue; and Harry,
rather nervous and ill at ease in the unaccustomed restraint of a
collar; these two walked arm-in-arm, and were followed by Sally's
mother and uncle, also arm-in-arm, and the procession was brought up
by Harry's brother and a friend. They started with a flourish of
trumpets and an old boot, and walked down the