the house, or else patiently threading coloured beads in the chair from
which, by no effort of its own, could it ever move; the great grave blue
eyes, full of serious, not uncheerful, expression, giving to the small
delicate face a look beyond its years; the soft plaintive voice dropping
out but few words, so unlike the continual prattle of a child--caught Mr.
Openshaw's attention in spite of himself. One day--he half scorned
himself for doing so--he cut short his dinner-hour to go in search of
some toy which should take the place of those eternal beads. I forget
what he bought; but, when he gave the present (which he took care to do
in a short abrupt manner, and when no one was by to see him) he was
almost thrilled by the flash of delight that came over that child's face,
and could not help all through that afternoon going over and over again
the picture left on his memory, by the bright effect of unexpected joy on
the little girl's face. When he returned home, he found his slippers
placed by his sitting-room fire; and even more careful attention paid to
his fancies than was habitual in those model lodgings. When Alice had
taken the last of his tea-things away--she had been silent as usual till
then--she stood for an instant with the door in her hand. Mr. Openshaw
looked as if he were deep in his book, though in fact he did not see a
line; but was heartily wishing the woman would be gone, and not make any
palaver of gratitude. But she only said:

"I am very much obliged to you, sir. Thank you very much," and was gone,
even before he could send her away with a "There, my good woman, that's
enough!"

For some time longer he took no apparent notice of the child. He even
hardened his heart into disregarding her sudden flush of colour, and
little timid smile of recognition, when he saw her by chance. But, after
all, this could not last for ever; and, having a second time given way to