“Lord bless me, aunt,” Miss Ormson was wont to say, with a vehemence of expression which afforded a strong contrast to the sentimental discourses concerning her own life and lives in general that had delighted Alick Dudley, “what do you want that you have not got? If I had your money,” with a strong emphasis on the personal pronouns, “and no children” (this fact was very fennel in the cup of Mrs. Black’s existence), “I would enjoy myself, see if I would not.” “Ah, Bessie!” Mrs. Black was wont to reply, “money is all very well while it lasts, and it does not last long, you know, but sympathy is better.” “Oh, bother sympathy!” Bessie replied—if she had been a man she would have said something a great deal stronger—“what good is it, and what do you want people to sympathize about?” “When you are married, child, perhaps you will know,” answered Mrs. Black, vaguely; whereupon Bessie asserted: “If any husband bullied me, aunt, as uncle bullies you, I would soon let him know the difference. He would not care to try the experiment with me twice.” “It is easy for you to talk,” said Mrs. Black, feebly. “Not in the least easier than it would be for me to act,” answered Bessie, strong in her youth and health, giving various pulls to Heather’s hair during the course of the conversation, which might be considered as special marks of admiration, put in to attract Mrs. Dudley’s notice. “I’d like to see my mother submit to the one-half you bear. Believe me, aunt, Griseldas are not thought much of by modern husbands. If any Griselda of the present day went home ‘smockless,’ that is,—if such a thing would be tolerated by our ‘intelligent’ police,—she might stay smockless all the days of her life afterwards, whilst her liege lord committed bigamy, or flaunted about with some other woman clothed in velvets and satins.” “I do not know what you are talking about, Bessie,” Mrs. Black would make answer. “About a certain Griselda, who was, as Lally says, ‘a fool,’ and lived in verse—how many centuries ago, Heather?” “How should I tell?” asked Mrs. Dudley. “Say eight or ten, that is near enough,” went on Bessie. “She was a woman, and her husband a man. Like many women, she was, as I have said, a fool, and he, like many men, was a brute. There you have the whole story, aunt; it reads a trifle like your own.” “But, my dear Bessie, your uncle is not a brute,” ventured Mrs. Black. “I am delighted to hear it,” Bessie answered. “He is a little rough, to be sure,” Mrs. Black went on, “and has no appreciation, no sympathy, as I said before; but, while he has money, if he could clothe me in cloth of gold, he would do it.” “You may be very glad he cannot,” answered Bessie, “for cloth of gold would be not merely very expensive, but also very unbecoming.” “How you talk, child!”