Rosa turned gravely towards her. “You know it is not that. You had only to tell me you wanted it. I would never have been so mean as to bid against you.” “Mean, indeed!” said. Florence, tossing her head. “Yes, mean; to draw back and hide behind the friend you were with, and employ the very rogue she had turned off. But it is my own fault. Cecilia warned me against you. She always said you were a treacherous girl.” “And I say you are an impudent little minx. Only just married, and going about like two vagabonds, and talk to me like that!” “We are not going about like two vagabonds. We have taken a house in Mayfair.” “Say a stable.” “It was by your advice, you false-hearted creature.” “You are a fool.” “You are worse; you are a traitress.” “Then don't you have anything to do with me.” “Heaven forbid I should, you treacherous thing!” “You insolent--insolent--I hate you.” “And I despise you.” “I always hated you at bottom.” “That's why you pretended to love me, you wretch.” “Well, I pretend no more. I am your enemy for life.” “Thank you. You have told the truth for once in your life.” “I have. And he shall never call in your husband; so you may leave Mayfair as soon as you like.” “Not to please you, madam. We can get on without traitors.” And so they parted, with eyes that gleamed like tigers. Rosa drove home in great agitation, and tried to tell Christopher; but choked, and became hysterical. The husband-physician coaxed and scolded her out of that; and presently in came Uncle Philip, full of the humors of the auction-room. He told about the little boy with a delight that disgusted Mrs. Staines, and then was particularly merry on female friendships. “Fancy a man going to a sale with his friend, and bidding against him on the sly.” “She is no friend of mine. We are enemies for life.” “And you were to be friends till death,” said Staines, with a sigh. Philip inquired who she was. “Mrs. John Cole.” “Not of Curzon Street?” “Yes.” “And you have quarrelled with her?” “Yes.” “Well, but her husband is a general practitioner.” “She is a traitress.” “But her husband could put a good deal of money in Christopher's way.” “I can't help it. She is a traitress.” “And you have quarrelled with her about an old wardrobe.” “No, for her disloyalty, and her base good-for-nothingness. Oh! oh! oh!” Uncle Philip got up, looking sour. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Christopher,” said he, very dryly. Christopher accompanied him to the foot of the stairs. “Well, Christopher,” said he, “matrimony is a blunder at the best; and you have not done the thing by halves. You have married a simpleton. She will be your ruin.” “Uncle Philip, since you only come here to insult us, I hope in future you will stay at home.” “Oh! with pleasure, sir. Good-by!” CHAPTER VII. Christopher Staines came back, looking pained and disturbed. “There,” said he, “I feared it would come to this. I have quarrelled with Uncle Philip.” “Oh! how could you?”