Grey, brown or black? says Mrs Sucksby. ?

    Make it t, t last. I tripe o t of dra up. S stockings, and stays, and coloured petticoats. tticoats astonis linen must be  as,  all black books must turn out Bibles.

    But I must be coloured nowo girls dressing a doll.

    No? says Mrs Sucksby, studying till, my dear, akes her measure. Lord,

    look at your .—eady! A person dont  to ell you.—ts better. too loose, is it? ell,  be particular about ts em.

    take a bring me ne t  o o . . .?

    S distractedly. S y stitc to t of table in t co sort tems inside. I cs my jetle linen packet, un and tips tents into her lap.

    No once ures ss it quickly aside. A bracelet of emeralds, s, in fas time of King George; but ones. e ss too  is, for a girl  you a nice set of beads—glass beads, but  you mucter. And— Os t t a beauty? Look Dainty, look at tunning great stones in t!

    Dainty looks.  a spanker! she says.

    It is ts I once imagined Sue breat ing eye. Noudies it  sparkles. It sparkles, even here.

    I kno mind? Ss clasp and pins it to ty lets fall o ch her.

    Oh, Mrs S! she says. You looks like a regular queen.

    My  beats ainly—not knoo compliment or mock. I do not know, myself.

    For a time, ty finiss and pins it into a knot. tand, so t survey me. tant, tilt t ty rubs her nose. Mrs Sucksby drums her fingers across her lips, and frowns.

    ter s about it: I turn, and see . I barely recognise myself. My moute. My eyes are sur