hiding herself with an unutterable sense of shame and degradation from
the sight of some neighbour or old school acquaintance; no more going
about in terror of the persecution and foul language of the gangs of
grown-up boys and girls that spent their evenings in horse-play in the
streets; no more going home to the one being she loved, and who loved
her, whose affection supplied the food for which her heart hungered.

Arrived at her home, she did not go up as was her custom to her dreary
room at the top, but remained standing in the passage near the landlady's
door; and presently Mrs. Clark, coming out, discovered her there.

"Well, Fan, how's mother now?" she asked in a kind voice.

"She's dead," returned Fan, hanging her head.

"Dead! I thought it 'ud be that! Dear, dear! poor Margy, so strong as she
was only last Saturday, and dead! Poor Margy, poor dear--we was always
friendly"--here she wiped away a tear--"as good a soul as ever breathed!
_That_ she was, though she did die like that; but she never had a
chance, and went to the bad all on account of him. Dead, and he on the
drink--Lord only knows where he gits it--and lying there asleep in his
room, and his poor wife dead at the hospital, and never thinking how he's
going to pay the rent. I've stood it long enough for poor Margy, poor
dear, because we was friends like, and she'd her troubles the same as me,
but I ain't going to stand it from him. That I'll let him know fast
enough; and now she's dead he can take himself off, and good riddance.
But how're _you_ going to live--begging about the street? A big girl
like you--I'm ashamed of such goings on, and ain't going to have it in my
house."