“Yes. But say: just as a fancy, and for instance.”

“I a lady! I, a poor girl who used to row poor father on the river. I, who had rowed poor father out and home on the very night when I saw him for the first time. I, who was made so timid by his looking at me, that I got up and went out!”

(“He did look at you, even that night, though you were not a lady!” thought Miss Wren.)

“I a lady!” Lizzie went on in a low voice, with her eyes upon the fire. “I, with poor father’s grave not even cleared of undeserved stain and shame, and he trying to clear it for me! I a lady!”

“Only as a fancy, and for instance,” urged Miss Wren.

“Too much, Jenny, dear, too much! My fancy is not able to get that far.” As the low fire gleamed upon her, it showed her smiling, mournfully and abstractedly.