d the next was no better.

"What _is_ the matter, Lizzie?" said Rose, as she busily
threaded her netting-needle through mesh after mesh, and
Elizabeth was patiently or impatiently measuring the length of
the parlour with her steps. "You look as if you had lost all
your friends."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Why do you look so?"

"What is the difference between losing all one's friends, and
having none to lose?"

"Why -- haven't you any?"

"Whom have I?"

"Well, you might have. I am sure _I_ have a great many."

"Friends!" said Elizabeth.

"Well -- I don't know who you call friends," said Rose,
breaking her silk with an impatient tug at a knot, -- "There! --
dear! how _shall_ I tie it again? -- I should think you needn't
look so glum."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Why -- because. You have everything in the world."

"Have I?" said Elizabeth bitterly. "I am alone as I can be."

"Alone!" said Rose.

"Yes. I am alone. My father is buried in his business; I have
nothing of him, even what I might have, or used to have -- _you_
never were anything to me. There is not a face in the world
that my heart jumps to see."

"Except that one?" said Rose.

"'That one,' as you elegantly express it, I do not see, as it
happens."

"It's a pity he didn't know what effect his coming and looking
in at our windows might have," said Rose. "I am sure he would
be good enough to do it."

But Elizabeth thought a retort unworthy of the subject; or
else her mind was full of other things; for after a dignified
silence of a few minutes she left Rose and went to her own
quarters. Perhaps the slight antagonistic spirit which was
raised by Rose's talk came in aid of her wavering
inclinations, or brought back her mind to its old tone of
wilfulness; for she decided at once that she would go and see
Winifred. She had a further reason for going, she said to
herself, in the matter of the money which she wished to convey
to Winthrop's hands. She did not want to send Clam with it;
she did not like to commit it to the post; there was no other
way but to give it to him herself; and that, she said, she
would do; or to Winifred's hands for him.

She left home accordingly, when the morning was about half
gone, and set out for Little South Street; with a quick but
less firm step than usual, speaking both doubt and decision.
Decision enough to carry her soon and without stopping to her
place of destination, and doubt enough to make her tremble
when she got t