was by; but, when alone together, they talked, and murmured, and
cooed, and chattered so continually, that Mr Openshaw first wondered
what they could find to say to each other, and next became irritated
because they were always so grave and silent with him. All this time
he was perpetually devising small new pleasures for the child. His
thoughts ran, in a pertinacious way, upon the desolate life before
her; and often he came back from his day's work loaded with the very
thing Alice had been longing for, but had not been able to procure.
One time, it was a little chair for drawing the little sufferer along
the streets; and, many an evening that following summer, Mr
Openshaw drew her along himself, regardless of the remarks of his
acquaintances. One day in autumn, he put down his newspaper, as Alice
came in with the breakfast, and said, in as indifferent a voice as he
could assume:

'Mrs Frank, is there any reason why we two should not put up our
horses together?'

Alice stood still in perplexed wonder. What did he mean? He had
resumed the reading of his newspaper, as if he did not expect any
answer; so she found silence her safest course, and went on quietly
arranging his breakfast, without another word passing between them.
Just as he was leaving the house, to go to the warehouse as usual,
he turned back and put his head into the bright, neat, tidy kitchen,
where all the women breakfasted in the morning:

'You'll think of what I said, Mrs Frank' (this was her name with the
lodgers), 'and let me have your opinion upon it tonight.'

Alice was thankful that her mother and Norah were too busy talking