“Lawyer Grinder,” said the farmer, letting himself drop heavily in a chair, “kept a close mouth. He wasn’t at liberty, those were his words, to say who it was as had paid it off. ‘But paid off it is, and that’s enough for you, farmer,’ says he. ‘I reckon I know whom I’m beholden to,’ I says, ‘and I’ll tell you plain, lawyer,’ says I, ‘I’m not a man as ’ud be beholden without it was to one who, so to speak, be but paying back what’s due to a parent.’ At that he smiles on the wrong side of his mouth, after his fashion, wife, none best pleased, I can tell you. As for Sir Jasper--well, he won’t get hold o’ Little Pitfold nohow now!” When Mrs. Pounce wrote to Pamela in London the letter was very full of blessings on a good daughter. “And your father is so out of himself with joy, my dear, ’tis a new lease of life.” And Pamela smiled as she read. Her lover, now very respectful, though by no means less ardent, had told her the story of the wager. Who was to say, after all, that she had not paid off the mortgage? As for the rest, she knew when to speak and when to be silent. CHAPTER VI IN WHICH MY LADY KILCRONEY STRIKES A MATCH AND MISS POUNCE THROWS COLD WATER ON IT The late Lady Standish was one of my Lady Kilcroney’s earliest friends. When Kitty first burst upon society in the select precincts of Bath--then the fabulously rich, unpardonably pretty, delightful, audacious, amazing little Widow Bellairs--Julia Standish was scarce a three weeks’ bride. From the very beginning Kitty’s endeavour had been to insert some backbone into the lovely but invertebrate Julia, and once, in despair, she had summed up the situation by exclaiming: “That ’twas like trying to mould too soft a jelly: the moment you thought you had her into shape, she was deliquescent again.” Therefore, though the connection was long and close; though Kitty, whether as Mistress Bellairs or my Lady Kilcroney, counted no party complete without her Julia; though, when in town together, scarce a day could pass upon which Julia, driven by the stress of some overwhelming emotional crisis, did not fling herself, weeping, upon Kitty’s breast, it could not be said that my Lady Kilcroney was very ardently attached to Lady Standish, or that her death, sad and premature as it was, plunged her in any depth of sorrow. The truth was that Julia Standish, elegant and virtuous, fair to look on and fond of feeling, belonged to the class that wear out the affections by over-usage. The stuff of Kitty’s sturdy good comradeship had been worn so uncommonly thin, that at the time of Julia’s lamented death scarcely enough had been left between them to make a darn worth while. Kitty liked life in a strong brew, and Lady Standish wept into her cup so persistently that there was nothing left but salt water.