'It's cold, ain't it? I wonder you don't put on a ulster, a night
like this.'

'Thank you,' was the reply. 'I shan't consult you about how I'm to
dress.'

Clem laughed, knowing she had the best of the joke.

The other went upstairs, and entered the back-room, where it was
quite dark.

'That you, Clara?' asked Amy's voice. 'The candle's on the
mantel-shelf.'

'Why aren't you asleep?' Clara returned sharply. But the irritation
induced by Clem's triumph quickly passed in reflection on Sidney's
mode of leave-taking. That had not at all annoyed her, but it had
made her thoughtful. She lit the candle. Its light disclosed a room
much barer than the other one. There was one bed, in which Amy and
Annie lay (Clara had to share it with them), and a mattress placed
on the floor, where reposed little Tom; a low chest of drawers with
a very small looking-glass upon it, a washstand, a few boxes.
Handsome girls, unfortunate enough to have brains to boot, do not
cultivate the patient virtues in chambers of this description.

There was a knock at the door. Clara found her father standing
there.

'Have you anything to tell me, my girl?' he asked in a subdued