warmth of heart that shone in its smile of greeting. A fair broad
forehead lay above well-arched brows; the eyes below were large and
shrewdly observant, with laughter and kindness blent in their dark
depths. The cheeks were warm with health; the lips and chin were
strong, yet marked with refinement; they told of independence, of
fervid instincts; perhaps of a temper a little apt to be impatient. It
was not an imaginative countenance, yet alive with thought and
feeling--all, one felt, ready at the moment's need--the kind of face
which becomes the light and joy of home, the bliss of children, the
unfailing support of a man's courage. Her hair was cut short and
crisped itself above her neck; her hat of black straw and dark dress
were those of a work-girl--poor, yet, in their lack of adornment,
suiting well with the active, helpful impression which her look
produced.

'Here's Mary an' Mr. Hackroyd fallin' out again, Lydia,' said Mrs.
Bower.

'What about now?' Lydia asked, coming in and seating herself. Her eyes
passed quickly over Ackroyd's face and rested on that of the old man
with much kindness.

'Oh, the hold talk--about religion.'

'I think it 'ud be better if they left that alone,' she replied,
glancing at Mary.

'You're right, Miss Trent,' said Luke. 'It's about the most
unprofitable thing anyone can argue about.'

'Have you had your tea?' Mrs. Bower asked of Lydia.

'No; but I mustn't stop to have any, thank you, Mrs. Bower. Thyrza 'll
think I'm never coming home. I only looked in just to ask Mary to come
and have tea with us tomorrow.'

Ackroyd rose to depart.

'If I see Holmes I'll tell him you'll look in on Monday, Mr. Boddy.'

'Thank you, Mr. Ackroyd, thank you; no fear but I'll be there, sir.'

He nodded a leave-taking and went.

'Some work, grandad?' Lydia asked, moving to sit by Mr. Boddy.

'Yes, my dear; the thing as keeps the world a-goin'. How's the little
'un?'

'Why, I don't think she seems very well. I didn't want her to go to
work this morning, but she couldn't make up her mind to stay at home.
The hot weather makes her restless.'

'It's dreadful tryin'!' sighed Mrs. Bower.

'But I really mustn't stay, and that's the truth.' She rose from her
chair. 'Where do you think I've been, Mary? Mrs. Isaacs sent round this
morning to ask if I could give her a bit of help. She's going to
Margate on Monday, and there we've been all the afternoon trimming new
hats for herself and the girls.