'Because—because— Don't ask me anything else;' and she burst into tears.
'There, there,' he said, 'don't cry, for heaven's sake. I didn't mean to worry you; but you will tell me all about it by-and-by, won't you? What are you doing now?'
'Working.'
'What sort of work? Come, don't cry, Alice. I hate to think I have been adding to your distress.'
She dried her eyes obediently, and answered:
'I do tailoring work. It seems to be the only thing I'm good for.'
'That's paid very badly, isn't it?' he asked, some vague reminiscences of "Alton Locke" prompting the question.
'Oh, I manage to get along pretty well,' she replied, with an effort at a smile, which was more pathetic in Dick's eyes than her tears had been. He thought gloomily of the time, not so very long ago either, when her face had been the brightest as well as the fairest in Thornsett village, and his heart was sore with indignant protest against him who had so changed her face, her life, her surroundings. He looked at her tired thin face, still so pretty, in spite of the grief that had aged and the want that had pinched it, and found it hard to believe that this was indeed the Alice with whom he had raced through the pastures at Firth Vale—the Alice who had taken the place in his boyish heart of a very dear little sister. Ah, if she had only been his sister really, then their friendship would not have grown less and less during his school and college days, and his protection would have saved her, perhaps, from this. These foster-relationships are uncomfortable things. They inflict the sufferings of a real blood tie, and give none of the rights which might mitigate or avert such suffering.
'How's mother and father?' she said, breaking in among his sad thoughts.