"Well, she might do worse," said Bunting ruminatingly. "He’s as steady as God makes them, and he’s already earning thirty-two shillings a week. But I wonder how Old Aunt’d like the notion? I don’t see her parting with Daisy before she must."
"I wouldn’t let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing as that!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "No, not for millions of gold!" And Bunting looked at her in silent wonder. Ellen was singing a very different tune now to what she’d sung a few minutes ago, when she was so keen about the girl going to Belgrave Square.
"If she still seems upset while she’s having her dinner," said his wife suddenly, "well, you just wait till I’ve gone out for something, and then you just say to her, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’—just that, and nothing more! She’ll take it from you. And I shouldn’t be surprised if it comforted her quite a lot."
"For the matter of that, there’s no reason why Joe Chandler shouldn’t go over and see her there," said Bunting hesitatingly.
"Oh, yes, there is," said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly. "Plenty of reason. Daisy’ll be a very foolish girl if she allows her aunt to know any of her secrets. I’ve only seen that woman once, but I know exactly the sort Margaret is. She’s just waiting for Old Aunt to drop off, and then she’ll want to have Daisy herself—to wait on her, like. She’d turn quite nasty if she thought there was a young fellow what stood in her way."
She glanced at the clock, the pretty little eight-day clock which had been a wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress. It had mysteriously disap-
