"No; because they don't care for you. And because they're----they're nasty, artful minxes!" "Hear, hear! A charming definition! Castalia, you are really _impayable_ sometimes. How my lord would enjoy that speech of yours!" "No, he wouldn't. Uncle Val would never enjoy what vexed me. My lady might; nasty, disagreeable old thing!" "There, I can agree with you. A vulgar kind of woman--though she is my blood-relation--thoroughly coarse in the grain. But now that we have relieved our feelings, and spoken our minds on that score, suppose we converse rationally?" "I don't want to converse rationally." "Why not?" "Because that means that you are going to scold me." "Well--that might be highly rational, certainly; only I never do it." "Well, but you'll manage to make out that I'm in the wrong and you're in the right, somehow or other." "Cassy, I want you to write a letter." "A letter? Whom do you want me to write to?" Her tears were completely dried, and she looked up at him with a faint smile on her countenance, which, however, looked rueful enough, with red nose and swollen eyes. "You must write to my lord, and get him to help us with a little money." Her face fell. "Ask Uncle Val for money again, Ancram? It is such a short time since he sent me some!" "And to-morrow, at this hour, it will be 'such a short time' since you had your dinner! Nevertheless, I suppose you will want another dinner." "I--I don't think Uncle Val can afford it, Ancram." "Leave that to him. Afford it? Pshaw!" Algernon made the little sharp ejaculation in a tone expressive of the most impatient contempt. "But do we really--is it absolutely necessary for us to beg of my uncle again?" "Not at all. Do just as you please," answered her husband, rising and walking away from the sofa to a distant chair. Castalia's eyes followed him piteously. "But what can I say?" she asked. "What excuse can I make? I hate to worry Uncle Val. It isn't as if he had more money than he knew what to do with. And if Lady Seely knew about his helping us, she would lead him such a life!" "Do as you please. It would be a thousand pities to worry your uncle. Let all the worry fall on me." He took up a book and threw himself back in his chair as if he had dismissed the subject. "I don't know what to do!" exclaimed Castalia, with fretful helplessness. At length, after sitting silent for some time twisting her handkerchief backwards and forwards in her fingers, she got up and crossed the room to her husband's chair. "Ancram!" she said softly. "Eh? I beg your pardon!" looking up with an appearance of great abstraction, as if the perusal of his book had absorbed all his attention. "I wish to do what will please you. I only care to please you in the world. But--can't you explain to me a little better why I must write to Uncle Val?"