elf-indulgence; left
to itself the fire would last until tea-time--she would be back in
plenty of time for Marcus's late tea--he should have a warm clear fire
to welcome him and a plate of smoking French toast, because it was so
economical and only took half the amount of butter. It had been a
favourite delicacy in her nursery days, and the revival had given her
great solace.

Yes, he should have his tea first, and then she would bring in the
vexed subject for argument; in spite of Aunt Madge's well-meant advice,
it was a foregone conclusion in Olivia's mind that Martha must go. Of
course it was a pity. She liked the girl, she was so willing and
good-tempered; and her round childish face was always well washed and
free from smudges, and she was so good to Dot, caring for her as if she
were a baby sister of her own. Nevertheless, stern in her youthful
integrity, Olivia had already decided that Martha's hours at the corner
house were numbered.

And then there was the stuff for Dot's new winter pelisse. Marcus
would give her the few shillings without a murmur, she was sure of
that, but he would sigh furtively as he counted out the coins.
Whatever deprivations they might be called upon to endure their little
one must be warmly clad.

She must do without her new pair of gloves, that was all, and here
Olivia looked disconsolately at her worn finger-tips; she could ink the
seams and use her old muff, and no one would notice; what was the use
of buying new gloves, when her hands would soon be as red and rough as
Martha's. Olivia was just a little vain of her hands; they were not
small, but the long slender fingers with almond-shaped nails were full
of character, and Marcus had often praised them.

For his sake she would try to take care of them, but black-leading
stoves and washing Dot's little garments would not help to beautify
them. Of course, it was nonsense to care about such trifles, she must
be strong-minded and live above such sublunary things. Marcus would
only honour her the more for her self-forgetfulness and labours of
love. Here the pucker vanished from Olivia's brow, and a sweet,
earnest look came to her face.

The next moment her attention was distracted; a tall old man in a
great-coat with a fur-lined collar passed the window; he was a little
bent and walked feebly, leaning on a gold-headed stick.

Olivia watched him until he was out of sight; for some occult reason,
not comprehensible even to h