that of a work-girl, unsubstantial, ill-fitting, but of ambitious
cut; her hair was very abundant, and rose upon the back of her head
in thick coils, an elegant fringe depending in front. The fire had
made her face scarlet, and in the lamplight her large eyes glistened
with many joys.

First and foremost, Miss Clementina Peckover rejoiced because she
had left work much earlier than usual, and was about to enjoy what
she would have described as a 'blow out.' Secondly, she rejoiced
because her mother, the landlady of the house, was absent for the
night, and consequently she would exercise sole authority over the
domestic slave, Jane Snowdon--that is to say, would indulge to the
uttermost her instincts of cruelty in tormenting a defenceless
creature. Finally--a cause of happiness antecedent to the others,
but less vivid in her mind at this moment--in the next room lay
awaiting burial the corpse of Mrs. Peckover's mother-in-law, whose
death six days ago had plunged mother and daughter into profound
delight, partly because they were relieved at length from making a
pretence of humanity to a bed-ridden old woman, partly owing to the
fact that the deceased had left behind her a sum of seventy-five
pounds, exclusive of moneys due from a burial-club.

'Ah!' exclaimed Miss Peckover (who was affectionately known to her
intimates as 'Clem'), as she watched Jane stagger back from the
blow, and hide her face in silent endurance of pain. 'That's just a
morsel to stay your appetite, my lady! You didn't expect me back
'ome at this time, did you? You thought as you was goin' to have the
kitchen to yourself when mother went. Ha ha! ho ho!--These
sausages is done; now you clean that fryin'-pan; and if I can find a
speck of dirt in it as big as 'arlf a farden, I'll take you by the