‘As it happens,’ objected Fanny, ‘she isn’t going to the Jubilee at all. At least she says she isn’t. She’s above it--so her brother told me.’ ‘I know who _wants_ to marry her,’ Ada remarked, with a sour smile. ‘Who is that?’ came from the others. ‘Mr. Crewe.’ With a significant giggle, Fanny glanced at the more sober of her sisters; she, the while, touched her upper lip with the point of her tongue, and looked towards the window. ‘Does he?’ Fanny asked of the ceiling. ‘He wants money to float his teetotal drink,’ said Beatrice. ‘Hasn’t he been at Arthur about it?’ ‘Not that I know,’ answered the wife. ‘He tried to get round me, but I--’ A scream of incredulity from Fanny, and a chuckle from Mrs. Peachey, covered the rest of the sentence. Beatrice gazed at them defiantly. ‘Well, idiots! What’s up now?’ ‘Oh, nothing.’ ‘There’s nobody knows Luckworth Crewe better than I do,’ Beatrice pursued disdainfully, ‘and I think he knows _me_ pretty well. He’ll make a fool of himself when he marries; I’ve told him so, and he as good as said I was right. If it wasn’t for that, I should feel a respect for him. He’ll have money one of these days.’ ‘And he’ll marry Nancy Lord,’ said Ada tauntingly. ‘Not just yet.’ Ada rolled herself from the sofa, and stood yawning. ‘Well, I shall go and dress. What are you people going to do? You needn’t expect any dinner. I shall have mine at a restaurant.’ ‘Who have you to meet?’ asked Fanny, with a grimace. Her sister disregarded the question, yawned again, and turned to Beatrice. ‘Who shall we ask to take Fan’s place on Tuesday? Whoever it 15, they’ll have to pay. Those seats are selling for three guineas, somebody told me.’ Conversation lingered about this point for a few minutes, till Mrs. Peachey went upstairs. When the door was open, a child’s crying could be heard, but it excited no remark. Presently the other two retired, to make themselves ready for going out. Fanny was the first to reappear, and, whilst waiting for her sister, she tapped out a new music-hall melody on the piano. As they left the house, Beatrice remarked that Ada really meant to have her dinner at Gatti’s or some such place; perhaps they had better indulge themselves in the same way. ‘Suppose you give Horace Lord a hint that we’ve no dinner at home? He might take us, and stand treat.’ Fanny shook her head. ‘I don’t think he could get away. The guv’nor expects him home to dinner on Sundays.’ The other laughed her contempt. ‘You see! What good is he? Look here, Fan, you just wait a bit, and you’ll do much better than that. Old Lord would cut up rough as soon as ever such a thing was mentioned; I know he would. There’s something I have had in my mind for a long time. Suppose I could show you a way of making a heap of money--no end of money--? Shouldn’t you like it better,--to live as you pleased, and be independent?’ The listener’s face confessed curiosity, yet was dubious.