"Remember, you're not of age yet, young sir, and when you are, you won't be much better off, unless I please. You haven't a penny of your own now, except what I give you, and if you don't abandon the whole thing, not a penny more will you have." The dowager was aware of the advantage in military tactics of cutting off the enemy's supplies. "I'm sure I don't want it," said Tom; but he thought in a moment how ungracious this was to his mother, who had previously been so kind to him. "I mean, I don't want you to help me any more, if it's to be thrown in my teeth like this. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for what you have done for me already. That is past and gone, and I'm not going to sell myself now and break a trusting girl's heart for the sake of my future chances. Hang the money! I hate the very sound of the word." "But it is a very useful thing, Thomas--a very useful thing; and you don't seem to have had any objection to it before. It's very hard on me, Thomas, very hard." The old lady was broken now a good deal, after all the trouble she had gone through, and was not able to prosecute the combat with her customary vigour. "After I've been slaving and saving for you all these years to meet with such a return. It's a judgment on me; and if I had served my church better than I have served my son, it-- it--" And the dowager fairly broke down for the first time in her life, after vainly attempting to paraphrase Cardinal Wolsey's memorable monologue. Tom was fairly vanquished. "I beg your pardon, mother. I did not mean to say anything unkind or ungrateful, but really--" "After all I have done for you, too," whimpered Mrs Hartshorne; "it's a judgment on me for neglecting your sister and making so much of you." "I'm very sorry, mother, but I'm a man now, and this is a matter I must decide for myself." "You shan't marry with my consent," retorted the dowager; "and you can't marry without that." "You're my mother," said Tom, sadly emphasising that undeniable fact; "and you can ruin my hopes of happiness, if you please. But I shan't stop here; I shall go abroad." "You go where you please," said the old lady, in her usual sharp way, "so long as you give up that chit." "I'm not going to give up anybody," said Tom, defiantly; "and I shall exchange into an Indian regiment to-morrow, and when I come of age I shall do as I please." "Suit yourself," said the dowager, curtly; "but mark my words, not a penny of my money do you get." At this point the engagement terminated, each party withdrawing their forces without undergoing either a defeat or a victory. It was a decided case of what the dowager had termed in the first instance, "Fiddle-de-dee!" Tom, immediately after returning from his unsuccessful trip to Havre, had gone down one fine morning to the pretty little parsonage house at Hartwood.