joint names. Nearly every shilling of it had been placed there by Sarah, and Steve was well aware of the feet. Yet when she proposed to divide it equally, he accepted the proposal without a demur. For of all human creatures, lovers are the most shamelessly selfish, and at this time Steve was ready to sacrifice any one for the pretty girl he was going to marry. It was Sarah's money, and he knew it, but his one thought in the matter was, that it would enable him to take his bride to Blackpool for a whole week.
The summer which followed this marriage was full of grief to Sarah, grief of that kind which lets the life out in pinpricks, small, mean griefs, that a brave, noble heart folds the raiment over and bears. Steve's ostentatious happiness was almost offensive, and she could not but notice that he was never now absent from his loom. She told herself that she ought to be glad, and that she was glad, but still she could not help a sigh for the mother-love and the sister-love which he had so long tried and wounded by his indifference and his laziness.
They met at the mill every day, and Sarah always asked kindly after Joyce. There was
