that. She did not care now how ugly and shabby looked the "wee feet"
that had once been praised; but she felt it might be a matter of
health and prudence. Suppose she caught cold--fell ill--died: died,
leaving Johanna to struggle alone; died before Robert Lyon came home.
Both thoughts struck sharp. She was too young still, or had not
suffered enough, calmly to think of death and dying.

"It will do no harm to inquire the price. I might stop it out in
omnibuses."

For this was the way that every new article of dress had to be
procured--"stopping it cut" of something else.

After trying several pairs-with a fierce, bitter blush at a small
hole which the day's walking had worn in her well darned stockings,
and which she was sure the shopman saw, as well as an old lady who
sat opposite--Hilary bought the plainest and stoutest of boots. The
bill overstepped her purse by six pence, but she promised that sum on
delivery, and paid the rest. She had got into a nervous horror of
letting any account stand over for a single day.

Look tenderly, reader, on this picture of struggles so small, of
sufferings so uninteresting and mean. I paint it not because it is
original, but because it is so awfully true. Thousands of women, well
born, well reared, know it to be true--burned into them by the cruel
conflict of their youth; happy they if it ended in their youth, while
mind and body had still enough vitality and elasticity to endure! I
paint it, because it accounts for the accusation sometimes
made--especially by men--that women are naturally stingy. Possibly
so: but in many instances may it not have been this petty struggle