Lizzie looked doubtful. "I haven't got much money," she said in a faltering tone.
"Oh! A little bit will do, my dear; or an old silver spoon that your mother has thrown away."
The silly girl felt flattered that the woman should think her mother was rich enough to throw away old silver spoons, and went on holding her head a trifle higher, while the woman hurried to overtake her friends, smiling as she thought how easy the girl could be taken in.
Lizzie reached home in a rather better mood than when she set out on her walk, and was altogether more pleasant and obliging during the next day; so that her mistress thought the advice she had doubtless received at home had made some impression upon her, and that she had resolved to do better in future.
So when on Wednesday morning she asked if she might go out for an hour in the evening, Mrs. Spencer thought it would encourage her to persevere if she let her have some relaxation, and so gave her permission, but told her not to stay out so late as she had done the previous week.
As soon as the tea-things were cleared away, Lizzie went upstairs to dress herself; for she had made up her mind to go as smart as she could to see Mrs. Stanley. She had trimmed the sleeves of her dress with white lace, and tacked a broad piece round the neck, and put on her best hat and gloves, thinking to impose still further on the woman's notion that she was a lady.
She was careful to button her black cloth jacket close when she went out, so that her mistress did not notice how smart she had made her frock look; but before she got to Snowfields, she took it off and carried it across her arm.
There was little fear that she would meet Emma Russell or any of her friends on the road to Snowfields; for this was a piece of waste ground lying at the back of the town, and altogether out of the way of the general traffic, although there seemed a good many people on their Way thither this evening.
Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, there was no one walking along the road who recognized Lizzie, and she reached the ground feeling quite elated over her success so far. She had brought sixpence—all the money she possessed, and she carefully pulled out her lace ruffles, drew up her gloves, and put on an air that she thought must convince everybody of her right to be considered a lady.
The business of the evening was just beginning when she reached the ground. There was a steam roundabout, a stall for shooting at a target, besides the wax-work show, in front of which a girl about her own age, dressed in red velveteen and spangles, walked up and down a narrow platform in front of the picture that had caught her attention on Sunday night, and expatiated on the wonders to be seen inside.