“I should have thought among so many you might have found someone to manage your establishment without having to advertise,” she suggested. Mr. Bradfield laughed. “So I could. I could have found a hundred. Some to manage my establishment, some to manage me, some to do both. And then all those whom I had not selected would have come down upon me in a body, and my life wouldn’t have been worth a year’s purchase among them. It won’t be worth much when they find you are here, you and Miss Christina. I shouldn’t be surprised if they were to set fire to the house and burn us all up together.” Mrs. Abercarne began to look frightened, while Chris was immensely amused. “Even money, you see, Miss Christina,” he went on, turning to the girl, who indeed engrossed most of his attention, “doesn’t keep you free from all worries.” “It does from the worst of them, though,” said Chris, sagely. “It saves you from all the little ones, which are much worse to bear every day than one big one now and then. Who wouldn’t rather have one bad attack of typhoid fever and have done with it than have, say toothache, every day? You can’t understand how much worse it is to deny yourself every day things which cost a penny, than to resist, once in a way, the temptation to spend a sovereign.” Mr. Bradfield was looking at her intently. “At any rate,” said he, with some wrath in his tone, “as long as you remain here, the sovereigns as well as the pennies will be forthcoming as often as they are wanted.” Here Mrs. Abercarne thought fit to interpose majestically: “My daughter was only using those particular terms as an illustration,” she said, in a suave manner; “as a matter of fact, neither the pennies nor the sovereigns are matters that concern her.” Both Mr. Bradfield and Chris accepted this rebuke in silence; but they exchanged a look, and poor Chris could not help remembering Mr. Bradfield’s remark that her mother was a joke. “At the same time,” went on Mrs. Abercarne, conscious that she had somewhat checked the evening’s pleasure, “I must confess that whatever cares one may have seem lighter when borne in a mansion like this, surrounded by treasures of art, and evidences of high culture.” Mr. Bradfield tried to look as if he appreciated the compliment, and Chris, feeling that the atmosphere was growing frigid again, made a diversion. “Indeed, Mr. Bradfield,” said she, “we’re never tired of looking at your beautiful things. Only all the cabinets and cupboards are always locked up, and it is very tantalising not to know what’s inside.” “Well, here are my keys,” said he, as he took from his pocket a large bunch of various sizes. “Open anything you like; there is no Blue Beard’s chamber here.” Perhaps they thought this remark rather unfortunate, with the knowledge they all had of the locked rooms in the east wing. At any rate, there was an awkward pause as Chris took the keys. He hastened to add: