Mother and daughter were setting tea. Florrie had been doing very well,
but she was not yet quite equal to her situation, and the mistresses
were now performing her lighter duties while she changed from the
offensive drudge to the neat parlour-maid. Throughout the afternoon
Hilda had avoided her mother's sight; partly because she wanted to be
alone (without knowing why), and partly because she was afraid lest Mr.
Cannon, as a member of the older generation, might have betrayed her to
her mother. This fear was not very genuine, though she pretended that it
was and enjoyed playing with it: as if she really desired a catastrophe
for the outcome of her adventure. She had only come downstairs in
response to her mother's direct summons, and instantly on seeing her she
had known that Mr. Cannon was not a traitor. Which knowledge somehow
rendered her gay in spite of herself. So that, what with this gaiety,
and the stimulation produced in Mrs. Lessways by the visit of Mr.
Cannon, and the general household relief at the obvious fact that
Florrie would rather more than 'do,' the atmosphere around the tinkling
tea-table in the half-light was decidedly pleasant.

Nevertheless the singular turn of Mrs. Lessways' phrase,--"You've got
your way,"--had startled the guilty Hilda.

"Mr. Cannon's going to see to the collecting of the Calder Street
rents," explained Mrs. Lessways. "So I hope you're satisfied, miss."

Hilda was aware of self-consciousness.

"Yes, you may well colour up!" Mrs. Lessways pursued, genial but
malicious. "You're as pleased as Punch, and you're saying to yourself
you've made your old mother give way to ye again! And so you needn't