“Bosh! I’m a poor man; let these cormorants wait. They _must_; debts of honour come first, and I owe Dunne, of Jockey Hall, a hundred pounds, which will have to be paid at once.” “A bet?” “Yes, a bet,” he answered, with a defiant scowl. “Tom Malone,” she said, tearing the envelope slowly as she spoke, “do you ever think what my life is? Do you know how often I wish I were dead? Do you suppose, if George Holroyd had lived, that I would be the poor, mean, unhappy wretch that I am?” “There, don’t give me any more of that sort of stuff; you know the old proverb. Eh! what? Never marry a widow, unless her first husband was _hanged_. I have no doubt that if George the First was the cool-headed, fastidious, fine gentlemen his son is, he would have been devilish sick of you long ago. Mind one thing, I must have that hundred pounds this week; that chap is well off, times are hard. Why, I am actually smoking a pipe, and drinking cheap Scotch whisky! You are his mother, you have a strong claim on him. So don’t be afraid of opening your mouth.” And with this injunction, he entered his dressing-room and shut the door. One scene more before the night closes. Let us take a peep at Belle Redmond, as she sits over her bedroom fire, with a small looking-glass in her hand, carefully examining first her teeth, then her eyelashes. She has been building fine castles in the air, ever since Juggy, at the lodge, announced that “a strange gentleman, in a grey ulster, had passed on a hack car, about six o’clock.” “He won’t come and call to-morrow,” said Belle to herself. “No, but after to-morrow we must always have a good fire in the drawing-room, and I shall wear my brown dress, and see that Eliza is ready to answer the door. Betty must make a cake. Oh, dear, I hope he will be better than that oaf, Denis! And have some life and go in him, for I shall do my best to marry him, no matter how hideous he is. Another winter here would finish me. I should certainly be found hanging from the baluster one fine morning. How Eliza would scream! But she would not cut me down. No! she hates me,” and she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “Yes,” she said, with a nod to herself, “I am as handsome and as irresistible as ever. And to this young Holroyd, fresh from dowdy, withered women in India, I shall seem divine.”