“Indeed, mother, you have; it is entered in your name, not in mine, already. I have no account at the bank at all.” “How can you talk nonsense,” said Mrs. Saltren; “you have all your savings—quite a fortune—which you got at the Park whilst tutor to young Giles.” “My dear mother, I had not the time to accumulate a fortune. I was tutor there for eighteen months and what I saved was a hundred and twenty-five pounds, and that sum is already disposed of.” “Disposed of! What have you done with it?” “I have purchased an annuity for some one.” “For whom? for me?” “No, mother, not for you. You have the purchase money of Chillacot.” “For whom then? I insist on knowing.” “For a man who has been crippled, and is unable to earn his livelihood.” “What nonsense! What absurd fit of heroic charity has come over you? Since you went to town in that strange, hurried fashion at the time of your father’s death, you have been altered from what you were before, as different as canister beef from that which is fresh from the ox.” Giles said nothing in self-defence. “But I insist on knowing on whom you have thrown this money away.” “I do not wish to tell—on a man who has the nearest of claims on me.” Mrs. Saltren considered, then coloured, looked mortified, and did not prosecute her inquiries. “Well,” she said petulantly, “a fool and his money is soon parted. I am very glad I insisted on having the Chillacot purchase money removed from your fingering. Please to ring for my lady’s-maid.” “Lady’s-maid, mother?” “For Thomasine. I want to speak to her. You may leave the room. Here we have been in town a week and the Welshes have not called. If we are to be more solitary here than we were at Chillacot, I shall go back to Orleigh. Ring for my lady’s-maid.” Mrs. Saltren was, indeed, becoming tired of London. Her opportunities for boasting were confined to talks with her landlady and her landlady’s visitors. It did her soul good, said the woman of the lodgings, to hear of lords and ladies; it was as comforting and improving as the words that dropped from the lips of the Reverend Hezekiah Bumpas. She felt it down to her toes. Mrs. Saltren indulged her in this particular to her heart’s content. She knew many persons of distinction. Lady Hermione Woodhead, who lived in Portland Place, had once been her intimate friend, till they differed about Lord Lamerton’s marriage. What had made them differ? It did not become her to speak, but his lordship had set his affections elsewhere, she could not name in what direction, and had been inveigled by the Woodheads into an alliance with their family. It was a mistake, an entanglement managed by designing women.