'You going to dine here, are you?' said her father in surprise. 'Dear
me, that's news. We have a dinner-party to-morrow, but I was not aware
that you knew our people.'

'I have accepted the invitation,' said Ethelberta. 'But if you think I
had better stay away, I will get out of it by some means. Heavens! what
does that mean--will anybody come in?' she added, rapidly pulling up her
hood and jumping from the seat as the loud tones of a bell clanged forth
in startling proximity.

'O no--it is all safe,' said her father. 'It is the area door--nothing
to do with me. About the dinner: I don't see why you may not come. Of
course you will take no notice of me, nor shall I of you. It is to be
rather a large party. Lord What's-his-name is coming, and several good
people.'

'Yes; he is coming to meet me, it appears. But, father,' she said more
softly and slowly, 'how wrong it will be for me to come so close to you,
and never recognize you! I don't like it. I wish you could have given
up service by this time; it would have been so much less painful for us
all round. I thought we might have been able to manage it somehow.'

'Nonsense, nonsense,' said Mr. Chickerel crossly. 'There is not the
least reason why I should give up. I want to save a little money first.
If you don't like me as I am, you must keep away from me. Don't be
uneasy about my comfort; I am right enough, thank God. I can mind myself
for many a year yet.'

Ethelberta looked at him with tears in her eyes, but she did not speak.
She never could help crying when she met her father here.

'I have been in service now for more than seven-and-thirty years,' her
father went on. 'It is an honourable calling; and why should you
maintain me because you can earn a few pounds by your gifts, and an old
woman left you her house and a few sticks of furniture? If she had left
you any money it would have been a different thing, but as you have to
work for every penny you get, I cannot think of it. Suppose I should
agree to come and live with you, and then you should be ill, or such
like, and I no longer able to help myself? O no, I'll stick where I am,
for here I am safe as to food and shelter at any rate. Surely,
Ethelberta, it is only right that I, who ought to keep you all, should at
least keep your mother and myself? As to our position, that we cannot
help; and I don't mind that you are unable to own me.'

'I wish I could own you--all of you.'

'We