She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement. It was a simple wish. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. The Bed Room 400 XIX.
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