bilities of the future. Consideringly, she at last said in a
matter-of-fact tone:

"One day we'll have jam for tea, ma. And kippers. And fried sausages.
And steak and chips."

"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Minto. "Whatever's put such ideas into your
head!"

"And we'll have real coal, and thick blankets, and a new mattress, and
new curtains, and a brass fender. And everything in the room'll be a
beautiful gray-blue. And you'll sit here, doing nothing."

"I'm sure I shan't," exclaimed Mrs. Minto, fingering her mouth to hide a
nervous smile of pleasure.

"Doing nothing. And Elbert, the footman, will come in with the tea and
take it away again; and you'll say, Elbert'--mustn't say 'Elbert
dear'--you'll say, 'Elbert, just bring me my glass of hot water at ten
o'clock.' And he'll say, 'Yes, me lady.' No, he won't. He'll say, 'Yes,
meddam ... quite.... Yes, meddam.' That's what he'll say. Lick your
shoes, he will, because you're rich."

"Rich!" sighed Mrs. Minto. "Who's to make me rich?"

"I'm going to make us all rich," explained Sally. "You mark my words and
wait and see."

"I wouldn't mind not being rich," Mrs. Minto said, "if it wasn't that my
poor 'ed...."

"O-oh!" cried Sally, in wrath. Her mood was crushed by this inexorable
return to the subject she had been chattering to avert. "Give your old
head a rest, ma. Here, come out for a walk with me."

"You're not to go out, Sally. Mrs. Roberson says...."

"_That_ for Mrs. Roberson," said Sally, already on her feet. "You don't
suppose I'm going to stick in here and get frozen stiff. There's nothing
to do indoors. I got no sewing. Only makes me fret if I stay at home.
I'm going to see Mrs. Perce...."

She moved hastily to the door, and closed it quietly after her, for she
had heard below her the shutting of the front door, and she thought it
might be Toby at last. It was nearly a quarter to seven. Her guess had
been right. It was he. Seeming not to have heard him, she ran lightly
down the stairs as he heavily mounted them. Her heart was thumping so
that she felt quite sick and faint. She could no longer run, but could
only totter down towards the inevitable confrontation. It was there, and
it was past--a plain, boorish "Evening." She managed the rest of the
flight at a run; but when she was out of doors Sally turned to the
darkness and could no longer restrain her tears of anguish. This was the
end of her day. Laugh in the morning, cry before night. That was the