e saw her standing there and went
up to her.

'Won't yer change yer mind, Liza, an' come along with us?'

'Na, Tom, I told yer I wouldn't--it's not right like.' She felt she
must repeat that to herself often.

'I shan't enjoy it a bit without you,' he said.

'Well, I can't 'elp it!' she answered, somewhat sullenly.

At that moment a man came out of the public-house with a horn in his
hand; her heart gave a great jump, for if there was anything she
adored it was to drive along to the tootling of a horn. She really
felt it was very hard lines that she must stay at home when all these
people were going to have such a fine time; and they were all so
merry, and she could picture to herself so well the delights of the
drive and the picnic. She felt very much inclined to cry. But she
mustn't go, and she wouldn't go: she repeated that to herself twice as
the trumpeter gave a preliminary tootle.

Two more people hurried along, and when they came near Liza saw that
they were Jim Blakeston and a woman whom she supposed to be his wife.

'Are you comin', Liza?' Jim said to her.

'No,' she answered. 'I didn't know you was goin'.'

'I wish you was comin',' he replied, 'we shall 'ave a game.'

She could only just keep back the sobs; she so wished she were going.
It did seem hard that she must remain behind; and all because she
wasn't going to marry Tom. After all, she didn't see why that should
prevent her; there really was no need to refuse for that. She began to
think she had acted foolishly: it didn't do anyone any good that she
refused to go out with Tom, and no one thought it anything specially
fine that she should renounce her pleasure. Sally merely thought her a
fool.

Tom was standing by her side, silent, and looking disappointed and
rather unhappy. Jim said to her, in a low voice:

'I am sorry you're not comin'!'

It was too much. She did want to go so badly, and she really couldn't
resist any longer. If Tom would only ask her once more, and if she
could only change her mind reasonably and decently, she would accept;
but he stood silent, and she had to speak herself. It was very
undignified.

'Yer know, Tom.' she said, 'I don't want ter spoil your day.'

'Well, I don't think I shall go alone; it 'ud be so precious slow.'

Supposing he didn't ask her again! What should she do? She looked up
at the clock on the front of the pub, and noticed that it only wanted
five minutes to the half-hour. How terrible it wo