it may be after twelve when I get back."

"Where are you going to, Harriet?"

"If you must know always, Mrs. Ogle, I'm going to see my friend in
Westminster."

"Well, it ain't no business of mine, my girl," returned the woman, not
unkindly, "but I think it's only right I should have some idea where
you spend your nights. As long as you live in my house, I'm responsible
for you, in a way."

"I don't want any one to be responsible for me, Mrs. Ogle."

"Maybe not, my girl. But young people ain't always the best judges of
what's good for them, and what isn't. I don't think your cousin 'ud
approve of your being out so late. I shall sit up for you, and you
mustn't be after twelve."

It was said very decidedly. Harriet made no reply, but speedily dressed
and went out. She took an omnibus eastward, and sought a neighbourhood
which most decently dressed people would have been chary of entering
after nightfall, or indeed at any other time, unless compelled to do
so. The girl found the object of her walk in a dirty little
public-house at the corner of two foul and narrow by-ways. She entered
by a private door, and passed into a parlour, which was behind the bar.

A woman was sitting in the room, beguiling her leisure with a Sunday
paper. She was dressed with vulgar showiness, and made a lavish display
of jewellery, more or less valuable. Eight years ago she was a servant
in Mr. Smales's house, and her name was Sarah. She had married in the
meanwhile, and become Mrs. Sprowl.

She welcomed her visitor with a friendly nod, but did not rise.

"I thought it likely you'd look in, as you missed larst week. How's
things goin' in your part o' the world?"

"Very badly," returned Harriet, throwing off her hat and cloak, and
going to warm her hands and feet at the fire. "It won't last much
longer, that's the truth of it."

"Eh well, it's all in a life; we all has our little trials an'
troubles, as the sayin' is."

"How's the baby?" asked Harriet looking towards a bundle of wrappers
which lay on a sofa.

"I doubt it's too good for this world," returned the mother, grinning
in a way which made her ugly face peculiarly revolting. "Dessay it'll
join its little brother an' sister before long. Mike put it in the club
yes'day."

The burial-club, Mrs. Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood
the allusion.

"Have you walked?" went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and then
throwing it aside. "Dessay you could do with somet