The housewife was an active woman of something less than sixty;
stout, fresh-featured, with a small keen eye, a firm mouth, and the
look of one who, conscious of responsibilities, yet feels equal to
them; on the whole a kindly and contented face, if lacking the
suggestiveness which comes of thought. At present she seemed on the
verge of impatience; it was supper time, but her children lingered.
'There they are, and there they must wait, I s'pose,' she murmured
to herself as she finished slicing the vegetables and went to remove
the pan a little from the fire.
A knock at the house door called her upstairs. She came down again,
followed by a young girl of pleasant countenance, though pale and
anxious-looking. The visitor's dress was very plain, and indicated
poverty; she wore a long black jacket, untrimmed, a boa of cheap
fur, tied at the throat with black ribbon, a hat of grey felt, black
cotton gloves.
'No one here?' she asked, seeing the empty kitchen.
'Goodness knows where they all are. I s'pose Dick's at his meeting;
but Alice and 'Arry had ought to be back by now. Sit you down to the
table, and I'll put on the vegetables; there's no call to wait for
them. Only I ain't got the beer.'
'Oh, but I didn't mean to come for supper,' said the girl, whose
name was Emma Vine.
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