"Well, at any rate," I said, "it might buy you a book, but it can buy other things as well. I was given the money to-day--_your_ money--and I must thank you; only please in future make it a little more, for I cannot buy dresses with it; it isn't enough." He stared at me wildly, and just at that moment my step-mother came in. "Grace," said my father, turning to her, "this child seems to be in a sad muddle. She has been endeavouring to confuse me, which is exceedingly wrong of her. I trust that in future you will permit yourself, my dear, the extreme privilege of repressing Dumps." "Oh, oh!" I said. "Yes," continued father, "of repressing her.--You are, Dumps, too exuberant, too unmannerly, too impulsive.--Keep her, my dear, from bringing unsightly objects of that sort into my presence." He pointed to my darling brown-paper parcels. "And above all things, dear Grace, tell her not to thank me for what I have not done. She has been murmuring the most absurd rubbish into my ears, talking about a dress allowance. A dress allowance, indeed! Does she need money to spend on her outward adornment? Tell her to learn that hymn of Watts's, `Why should our garments, made to hide'--She had better learn that. Let her learn once for all that,-- "Be she dressed fine as she will, Flies, worms, and moths exceed her still. "In short, Grace, suppress the child, and tell her not to utter falsehoods in my presence." He went out; his wife followed him into the hall. She came back in a few minutes, and her cheeks were redder than was quite becoming. "Now, Dumps dear," she said, "I told you not to speak of your dress allowance to your father." "Then he never gave it to me?" "Well, dear, not exactly. I mean that he did not give it to you in so many words; nevertheless, it is my place to see to these things." "But was the ten pounds father's?" I asked stoutly. "What is his is mine, and what is mine is his," she replied. "Please, step-mother," I said imploringly, "answer me just for once. Did you give me that money, or did my father?" "My dear child, will you not understand once and for all that it is my aim and wish to do what I can to make you happy? If you go on trying me, Rachel, as you have been doing lately, you will make me a very unhappy woman." She paused; then she said, "Never up to the present moment have I known what real, true unhappiness is. I, Grace Donnithorne, given by nature so cheerful a heart, and, I think, so brave a spirit, and, I believe, the power of looking at things on the bright side--I unhappy!" She moved away; she stood by the fire. I saw tears starting to her bright, kindly, merry eyes; one rolled down her cheek. I went up to her and took her hand. "I have not been trying," I said--"I will confess it--I have not been trying to think kindly of you." "I know it, Dumps," she said gravely, and she looked round at me. "And I have been advising the boys not to show you any affection."