saw her finery tumbled on the floor--no further use for it in any
shape save as rags--and the dirty crown, which she had brought
upstairs, lying on the heap, the leaves already fading, she felt
depressed and miserable. The breakfast was dull, and for the most
part all three were silent. Mrs Hopgood and Clara went away to begin
their housework, leaving Madge alone.

'Madge,' cried Mrs Hopgood, 'what am I to do with this thing? It is
of no use to preserve it; it is dead and covered with dirt.'

'Throw it down here.'

She took it and rammed it into the fire. At that moment she saw
Frank pass. He was evidently about to knock, but she ran to the door
and opened it.

'I did not wish to keep you waiting in the wet.'

'I am just off but I could not help calling to see how you are.
What! burning your laurels, the testimony to your triumph?'

'Triumph! rather transitory; finishes in smoke,' and she pushed two
or three of the unburnt leaves amongst the ashes and covered them
over. He stooped down, picked up a leaf, smoothed it between his
fingers, and then raised his eyes. They met hers at that instant, as
she lifted them and looked in his face. They were near one another,
and his hands strayed towards hers till they touched. She did not
withdraw; he clasped the hand, she not resisting; in another moment
his arms were round her, his face was on hers, and he was swept into
self-forgetfulness. Suddenly the horn of the coach about to start