"Mr. Honeybun is the best man I know. He practises what he preaches; he lives in and for others. He uses his talents, regardless of his own comfort and worldly prosperity, to ameliorate the lot of the poor and oppressed." Echo again. "Poor and oppressed! Ameliorate! What a talker! Now, look ye here, young Posy, I’m going to deal squarely by you. I’m square to the four winds of Heaven, I am! You and I have got to understand each other—see? You’re as green as the grass, but you do ’ave some of my brains. I ain’t a-goin’ to argue with you for one minute. Don’t think it! I’ve forgotten more than you ever knew. Talk is the cheapest thing in London, but knaves like Honeybun buy fools with it. Don’t you toss your head! You’ve made your pore dear mother cry, and you’ve taken away father’s appetite. A nice morning’s work. Now, listen! No more Honeybunning! You hear me?" "Everybody in the house can hear you." "More sauce! You stand up, miss!" They rose together, confronting each other. Quinney’s scrubby red hair was on end with rage; Posy’s small bosom heaved tumultuously. Of late the girl had taken to the wearing of cheap beads and blouses cut low in the neck. Ethel had lamentable taste, but, according to her mother, it was expedient that maidens should work out their own salvation in such matters without parental interference. Quinney scowled at the beads and the white, rounded neck. "Take off that rubbish!" "Ethel gave them to me." "Take ’em off quick! Mother, you see to it that she wears respectable collars!" Posy removed two strings of large amethystine beads. Quinney took them and hurled them into the fireplace. Tears rolled down Posy’s blooming cheeks. She was unaccustomed to violence—a primitive weapon not to be despised by modern man. "Them beads," said Quinney, who reverted to the diction of his youth when excited, "is beastly—sinfully beastly! They stand for all that I despise; they stand for the cheap, trashy talk which you’ve been defilin’ your mind with. What you need is a good spankin’. Now, mother, I leave Miss Impudence with you. Mark well what I say. No more Honeybunning!" *II* It is significant that Quinney neglected his business that memorable morning in the interests of a child who was beginning to believe that she occupied a back seat in her father’s mind. After leaving the dining-room, he clapped on his hat, and betook himself straightway to St. James’s Square. There was only one man in all London to whom he could go for honest advice, and fortunately he happened to be in town for the season. Lord Mel received him graciously.