"MINE, of course—always?" she returned, with a forcible emphasis on the first word. "But it has never been open warfare between me and Miss Delves, Anne; you must understand that. Should anything of the sort supervene, she would have to quit the house. A bitter pill that would be, for she has no money, and would have to go out as housekeeper in reality, or something of the kind. My occupation would be gone then." "What occupation?" "The saying and doing all sorts of wild things to make her think ill of me. She goes and whispers them to Mr. Edwin Barley. He listens to her—I know he does, and that provokes me. Well, little pet, what are those honest brown eyes of yours longing to say?" "Why did you marry him, Selina?" "People say for money, Anne. I say it was fate." "He persuaded you, perhaps?" "He did. Persuaded, pressed, worried me. He was two years talking me into it. Better, perhaps, that he had given his great love elsewhere! Better for him, possibly, that he had married Charlotte Delves!" "But did he want to marry Charlotte Delves?" "Never. I don't believe that even the thought ever entered his head. The servants say she used to hope it; but they rattle nonsense at random. Edwin Barley never cared but for two things in the world: myself and money." "Money?" "Money, Anne. Pretty little pieces of gold and silver; new, crisp bank-notes; yellow old deeds of parchment, representing houses and lands. He cares for money almost as much as for me; and he'll care for it more than for me in time. Who's this?" It was Philip King. He came in, looking more cross, if possible, than he did the previous night. His face shone out sickly, too, in the bright morning sun. Selina spoke, but did not offer her hand. "Good morning, Mr. King; I hope you feel better to-day. You did not get down to breakfast, I understand. Neither did I?" "I did get down to breakfast," he answered, speaking as if something had very much put him out. "I took it with Mr. Edwin Barley in his study." "Leaving George Heneage to breakfast alone. You two polite men! Had I known that, I would have come down and breakfasted with him." That she said this in a spirit of mischief, in a manner most especially calculated to provoke him, I saw by the saucy look that shot from her bright blue eyes. "I think you and Heneage breakfast together quite often enough as it is, Mrs. Edwin Barley." "You do? Then, if I were you, sir, I would have the good manners to keep such thoughts to myself; or tell them to Mr. Edwin Barley, if you like. He might offer you a premium for them—who knows?" Philip King was getting into an angry heat. "I hope you have tolerably strong shoulders," she resumed, as if struck with some sudden thought. "Why so?" "George Heneage intends to try his cane upon them on the next convenient day." His lips turned white. "Mrs. Barley, what do you mean?"