she superintended in Old Keston, her arms
immersed in soap suds, her eyes on the garden fence which cut her off
from Pattie's premises.

If she could only catch sight of Pattie hanging out washing, and have
a few words with her!

Pattie, however, was not at the wash-tub this week. In Denys's and
Gertrude's absence all the washing had been sent out, to leave Pattie
more time to help Mrs. Brougham, and at that minute Pattie was busily
running round the house tidying up after the holiday, and looking
forward to taking little Maud out in the afternoon, a treat which she
was beginning to appreciate very highly.

As Tom had said, she looked tired, even though it was so early in
the day; but she would not have allowed for an instant that she had
anything to trouble her. Why should she have, when she had only to let
Sam Willard, the butcher's assistant, know when she would be out for
an hour in the evening, and there he would be at the corner waiting
for her, with his fine air and his curled moustache and his hair in
a curl on his forehead. And he had no end of money, he was always
chinking a pocketful, and talking of what he should buy. Only on
Saturday he had taken her round to look at the shops, and they had
lingered a long time outside a jeweller's, and Sam had pointed out the
ring he meant to give his sweetheart some day. Pattie had quite held
her breath as she imagined her hand with that ring on it!

Now as she swept up the bedrooms she glanced at her hands and frowned.
She was not very clever at keeping her hands nice, but she always
excused herself with the plea that grates and wash-tubs and saucepans
were to blame.

The hands that wore that ring would not be used for brooms and
black-lead brushes! She wondered what furniture would be bought to
match that ring!

And then, involuntarily, she thought of another Saturday evening when
Tom had taken her to look at the shops, and they had lingered outside,
not a jeweller's, but a furniture shop, and Tom had pointed out a tall
Windsor arm-chair and said they would have two of those in their
home, and she had pictured herself in one of those chairs by a bright
fireside in a cosy kitchen with Tom opposite to her, reading his
paper, while she had a bit of dainty white needlework in her lap, such
as she had seen her last mistress, who was newly married, busy with.
She remembered how, as she pictured that happy little fireside, she
had made up her mind to keep her hands bet