"Ah, you'd do that, I don't doubt," he said, with a certain bitterness. He utterly condemned the fat, lazy girl. He would have liked to see her down on her knees scrubbing the boards. He would have enjoyed the chance to punish her for her frivolity, the impertinence, the nonsense, that yet in some unaccountable way attracted him. He looked angrily at her, and Bessie watched him. Perhaps he was going to show the "dangerousness" incident to his time of life at last. "As you're all going on now, I'm afraid you won't have much money to spend," he contented himself with saying; and then he began on the other subject. "And what about this wretched boy?" "I'll thank you not to call him a wretched boy to me, Mr. Boult." "What else is he? He is a wretched boy." "He is my brother." "Yah, yah!" said Mr. Boult, unable to find articulate expression for his contempt. "More's the pity for you! Your mother's running her head at buying the young ass off. I've told her I would not give her a farthing for any such purpose." "Did she ask you for a farthing?" "All I ever intend to do for Master Bernard I have done. I give you all notice. If you choose to get him home here, to dangle about, eating you women out of house and home, don't look to me to help you." "Mr. Boult, we are unfortunate, but we aren't quite friendless." "I'm glad to hear it. It's news." "Let me tell you that there are others--" "Pity they didn't come forward sooner!" In his soul he believed that no family had ever possessed such a guide, philosopher and friend as he had been to them. For much he would not have credited the suggestion that he must share the honour of having befriended them with another. "If you've got another friend like me up your sleeve you'd best bring him forward, and let him put a little more money into the business. That's what's wanted, Miss Bessie." He got up from his chair and advanced a step upon her: "Who are these mighty friends then? Out with them." "Suppose I don't choose to tell you?" "I should expect you've got your reasons. I will bid you good-afternoon, Miss Bessie." He thrust out his hand to her. "What is that for?" Bessie inquired, looking with disdainful curiosity upon the yellow dogskin. "You shouldn't shake hands with a lady with your glove on, Mr. Boult." At that he drew back the hand, put on his hat, and walked away. "Good-afternoon, Mr. Boult." "Yah! Yah!" Mr. Boult responded from the landing. And as he went down the dark staircase and out at the private door he said to himself some words the reverse of complimentary to Miss Bessie. CHAPTER XIX When Beauty Calls "Oh, Reggie!" Deleah said in a tone of supreme annoyance.