Let us hope she was wrong in her judgement. Poor Emmy's days of happiness had been very few in that humble cot. A gloomy Fate had oppressed her there. She never liked to come back to the house after she had left it, or to face the landlady who had tyrannized over her when ill-humoured and unpaid, or when pleased had treated her with a coarse familiarity scarcely less odious. Her servility and fulsome compliments when Emmy was in prosperity were not more to that lady's liking. She cast about notes of admiration all over the new house, extolling every article of furniture or ornament; she fingered Mrs. Osborne's dresses and calculated their price. Nothing could be too good for that sweet lady, she vowed and protested. But in the vulgar sycophant who now paid court to her, Emmy always remembered the coarse tyrant who had made her miserable many a time, to whom she had been forced to put up petitions for time, when the rent was overdue; who cried out at her extravagance if she bought delicacies for her ailing mother or father; who had seen her humble and trampled upon her.

Let us hope she was wrong. Poor Emmy's days of happiness in that home had been very few. Fate had oppressed her: the landlady had tyrannized over her when unpaid, and Mrs. Clapp's servility and fulsome compliments about the new house were no more to Emmy's liking. Emmy always remembered the coarse tyrant who had made her miserable; who had cried out at her extravagance if she bought delicacies for her ailing parents; who had seen her humble, and trampled upon her.
