It isn't our fault.' Mrs.Mutimer smiled in a grim way, then laughed--a most unmusical laugh.
'Now what's the good o' joking in that kind o' way?
That's like your father, that is; he'd often come 'ome an' tell me sich things as never was, an' expect me to believe 'em.

An' I used to purtend I did, jist to please him.

But I'm too old for that kind o' jokin' .-- Alice, where's Dick?
How long'll it be before he's here?
Where did he leave you ?' 'Now do just sit down, mother; here, in this chair.

Just sit quiet for a little, do.' Mrs.Mutimer pushed aside the girl's hand; her face had become grave again.
'Let me be, child.

And I tell you I have seen Emma to-day.