But Lizzie had no heart for merry-making, and the coarse jests and riotous laughter would rather have disgusted than pleased her, even if she had been well. Neither did she care for the bountiful supper of tripe and onions that was handed up to her. She felt too sick and sore to eat; she only longed for rest, and to be able to go back to her mother and the situation she had so rashly left.