You'll have to come round him sharp, Clem.' The mother was dressed as her kind are wont to be on Sunday morning--that is to say, not dressed at all, but hung about with coarse garments, her hair in unbeautiful disarray.

Clem, on the other hand, seemed to have devoted much attention to her morning toilet; she wore a dark dress trimmed with velveteen, and a metal ornament of primitive taste gleamed amid her hair.
'There ain't no mistake ?' she asked, after a pause.

'You're jolly sure of that ?' 'Mistake?
What a blessed fool you must be! Didn't they advertise in the papers for him?
Didn't the lawyers themselves say as it was something to his advantage?
Don't you say yourself as Jane says her grandfather's often spoke about him and wished he could find him?
How can it be a mistake?
If it was only Bill's letter we had to go on, you might talk; but--there, don't be a ijiot!' 'If it turned out as he hadn't nothing,' remarked Clem resolutely, 'I'd leave him, if I was married fifty times.' Her mother uttered a contemptuous sound.

At the same time she moved her head as if listening; some one was, in fact, descending the stairs.
'Here he comes,' she whispered.

'Get the eggs ready, an' I'll make the corffee.' A tap at the door, then entered a tallish man of perhaps forty, though he might be a year or two younger.