“Oh, I never play till the gentlemen come in,” said Amanda; “but I don’t see why you should take me up so sharp about Innocent. Now you’ve given her her education she ought to be made to do something. I’ll look out for a companion’s place, if you like, among my friends. Why shouldn’t I understand? it’s easy enough; and I am sure all your children have a right to interfere. Why should a girl that is only your half-niece take the bread out of their mouths? Ask any one if I am not right. Every penny you spend on her will be so much less for your own.” “We need not trouble Lady Doul with our family concerns,” said Mrs. Eastwood, with a tremendous effort to keep her temper; and she addressed a question to the old lady, upon which Amanda again broke in. “Oh, I assure you Frederick and I often talk it over; he thinks as I do. If she couldn’t be a governess she might be a companion. It would be quite easy; I, myself----” “Come and look at something I have got here,” cried Nelly, at the table, sending meaning looks at her mother. “Leave me alone, Nelly, I think it’s my duty to speak. As the wife of the eldest son I have a right to interfere; the Eastwoods are not so rich that the little they have should be spent on strangers.” “My dear Mrs. Frederick,” said Mrs. Eastwood, with a forced smile, while old Lady Doul hurried to the other end of the room to speak to Nelly; “I have been used to manage my own affairs without reference either to my sons or my son’s wife.” “And so much the worse for you,” cried Amanda, with flushed cheeks. “What can you know about business?--women never do--you ought to take sensible advice; you ought to consider your own children, and not a lot of hangers-on; you ought not just to take your own way, without ever thinking of us, starving our children for a pack of poor relations. Oh, I know what I am saying, and I ain’t to be put down by looks. I’m one of the family; and a poor enough thing for me, too, with my looks and my expectations; but to see a great beggar girl eating all up with her useless ways--what ought to come to us and our children. I cannot put up with it. I _will_ say what I’ve got to say.” “What is the matter, Amanda?” said Frederick, behind her. He had heard the raised tone of his wife’s voice, and had rushed in, in dismay. He found his mother risen from her chair, indignant, and burning with suppressed anger, and his wife standing before her, aiding her words by gestures, her white arm raised, her cheeks deeply flushed, her breath coming quick, and her eyes flashing red fire. He put his hand on her arm. “Come and sit down here on the sofa; the other men are just coming in. For heaven’s sake, Amanda, compose yourself! Do you want to be ill again? do you want to make a scene?”