At last I resolved to make a second appeal to Mr. Lovett about my money. I did not feel timid this time; I felt angry. It was inconsiderate of the old man to leave me without funds for so long. It was part of the same selfishness which made him so unmindful of his daughters’ feelings, but I was not his daughter, whatever he might call me before strangers, and I determined to put up with it no longer. I am afraid I had not the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit. I never have had. I can endure a great deal when it is accompanied by an open and honest dislike, because we cannot always command our fancies in this world. But anything like shuffling, meanness, or deceit, has ever inspired me with the supremest contempt. So when Mr. Lovett, having recovered his bilious attack, was moving amongst us again. I seized the first occasion of finding myself alone with him to broach the subject. ‘I think you must have forgotten my allowance, Mr. Lovett. I have been obliged to contract a debt in consequence, and am anxious to defray it.’ I did not speak very cordially, nor do I suppose I looked so. The things I had heard and seen lately were beginning to make me feel a species of dislike for my guardian. And his manner had not been as affectionate to me the last two days, either. Whether he suspected me of having had any hand in the Baron’s determination not to play cards again—a determination which hitherto he had faithfully kept—I do not know, but more than once I had caught him looking at me in a suspicious manner, as if he thought me rather a dangerous animal than otherwise; and one or two observations he had let fall with respect to his dislike to see young women mix themselves up with affairs that did not concern them, rather confirmed me in the idea that more had come to his knowledge than I intended. But that gave me little concern, and I spoke to him now as boldly as was my right to do, considering that I only asked for what was my own. He pretended to have forgotten all about it. ‘Your allowance, my dear! Is it due?’ ‘I don’t know, Mr. Lovett; but if not, will you please give me some in advance, as Mrs. Carolus, was kind enough to procure something for me in Rille, and I have not been able to repay her yet?’ He looked up at me, over the number of the _Siècle_ he was perusing, with an air of great concern. ‘I am very sorry to hear that, Hilda. To go in debt is to fall into an error which I have most carefully guarded my own children against. I would rather see them run about with bare feet than wear stockings and shoes for which they were unable to pay.’ ‘I dare say, sir, but I could not help it. I wanted something by a certain time—it was those earrings for Ange’s birthday—and as you had not remembered to give me any money, and Mrs. Carolus offered to pay for them till you did, I thought it was no harm to let her do so.’