irritated
her pride, and at present she lived amid conditions so repugnant, that her
nerves were ceaselessly strung almost beyond endurance. Before entering upon
this engagement she had formed but an imperfect notion of what would be demanded
of her. To begin with, Mrs. Tubbs belonged to the order of women who are by
nature slave-drivers; though it was her interest to secure Clara for a
permanency, she began by exacting from the girl as much labour as could possibly
be included in their agreement. The hours were insufferably long; by nine
o'clock each evening Clara was so outworn that with difficulty she remained
standing, yet not until midnight was she released. The unchanging odours of the
place sickened her, made her head ache, and robbed her of all appetite. Many of
the duties were menial, and to perform them fevered her with indignation. Then
the mere waiting upon such men as formed the majority of the customers, vulgarly
familiar, when not insolent, in their speech to her, was hateful beyond anything
she had conceived. Had there been no one to face but her father, she would have
returned home and resumed her old occupation at the end of the first fortnight,
so extreme was her suffering in mind and body; but rather than give Sidney
Kirkwood such a triumph, she would work on, and breathe no word of what she
underwent. Even in her anger against him, the knowledge of his forgiving
disposition, of the sincerity of his love, was an unavowed support. She knew he
could not utterly desert her; when some day he sought a reconciliation, the
renewal of conflict between his pride and her own would, she felt, supply her
with new courage.
    Early one Saturday afternoon she was standing by the windows, partly from
heavy idleness of thought, partly on the chance that Kirkwood might go by, when
a young, well-dressed man, who happened to be passing at a slow walk, turned his
head and looked at her. He went on, but in a few moments Clara, who had moved
back into the shop, saw him enter and come forwards. He took a seat at the
counter and ordered a luncheon. Clara waited upon him with her customary cold
reserve, and he made no remark until she returned him change out of the coin he
offered.
    Then he said with an apologetic smile:
    »We are old acquaintances, Miss Hewett, but I'm afraid you've forgotten me.«
    Clara regarded him in astonishment. His age seemed to be something short of
thirty; he had a long, grave,