ntruthfully.

Then, as Mr Farthing was about to leave the room, she said:

"I'm afraid I'm in your bad books."

"Bad what, Miss?" he asked, perplexed.

"Books--that you're offended with me."

"I, miss?"

"For coming here as your lodger?"

Mr Farthing stared at her in round-eyed amazement.

"I understood from Mrs Farthing that you object to her taking lodgers,"
explained Mavis.

Mr Farthing's jaw dropped; he seemed dumbfounded.

"That you're complaining about Mrs Farthing overworking herself every
minute you're at home," continued Mavis.

Mr Farthing backed to the door.

"And you tell her she's only killing herself by doing it."

Hopelessly bewildered, Mr Farthing clumped downstairs.

Mavis laughed long and softly at this refutation of Mrs Farthing's
pretensions. Before she again settled down to the enjoyment of her
book, she looked once more about the cleanly, comfortable room, which
had an indefinable atmosphere of home.

"Yes, yes," thought Mavis, "it is--it is good to be alive."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SPRINGTIME

Days passed swiftly for Mavis; weeks glided into months, months into
seasons. When the anniversary of the day on which she had commenced
work at the boot factory came round, she could not believe that she had
been at Melkbridge a year. When she had padded the streets of London in
quest of work, she had many times told herself that she had only to
secure a weekly wage in order to be happy. Now this desire was
attained, she found (as who has not?) that satisfaction in one
direction breeds hunger in another. Although her twenty shillings a
week had been increased to twenty-five, and she considerably augmented
this sum by teaching music to pupils to whom Mr Medlicott recommended
her, Mavis was by no means content. Her regular hours, the nature of
her employment, the absence of friendship in the warm-hearted girl's
life, all irked her; she fearfully wondered if she were doomed to spend
her remaining days in commencing work at nine-thirty and leaving off at
half-past four upon five days of the week, and one on Saturdays. If the
fifty-two weeks spent in Melkbridge had not brought contentment to her
mind, the good air of the place, together with Mrs Farthing's wholesome
food, had wrought a wondrous change in her appearance. The tired girl
with the hunted look in her eyes had developed into an amazingly
attractive young woman. Her fair skin had taken on a dazzling
whiteness; her hair was