‘Why to London?’ returned Ham.

He stood between them, looking on the prostrate girl with a mixture of compassion for her, and of jealousy of her holding any companionship with her whom he loved so well, which I have always remembered distinctly. They both spoke as if she were ill; in a soft, suppressed tone that was plainly heard, although it hardly rose above a whisper.

‘Better there than here,’ said a third voice aloud — Martha’s, though she did not move. ‘No one knows me there. Everybody knows me here.’

‘What will she do there?’ inquired Ham.

She lifted up her head, and looked darkly round at him for a moment; then laid it down again, and curved her right