“So much the worse,” say I. “My motto is, Full batta and plenty of loot; and it's every man's motto, only that every man is not honest enough to own it.” “And when are you to enter upon the duties of your office?” “Immediately. I 'm to be sworn in--there's an oath, it seems--this day week, and we 're to take up our abode at the Priory till we find a house to suit us.” “At the Priory?” “Yes. May I light a cigarette, mother: only one? He gave the invitation most royally. A whole wing is to be at our disposal. He said nothing about the cook or the wine-cellar, and these are the very ingredients I want to secure.” She shook her head dubiously, but made no answer. “You don't think, then, that he meant to have us as his guests?” “I think it unlikely.” “How shall I find out? It's quite certain I 'll not go live under his roof--which means his surveillance--without an adequate compensation. I 'll only consent to being bored by being fed.” “House-rent is something, however.” “Yes, mother, but not everything. That old man would be inquiring who dined with me, how late he stayed, who came to supper, and what they did afterwards. Now, if he take the whole charge of us, I 'll put up with a great deal, because I could manage a little '_pied à terre_' somewhere about Kingstown or Dalkey, and 'carry on' pleasantly enough. You must find out his intentions, mother, before I commit myself to an acceptance. You must, indeed.” “Take my advice, Dudley, and look out for a house at once. You 'll not be in _his_ three weeks.” “I can submit to a great deal when it suits me, mother,” said he, with a derisive smile, and a look of intense treachery at the same time. “I suppose you can,” said she, nodding in assent. “How is she?” “As usual,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. “And the children?” “They are quite well. By the way, before I forget it, don't let the Judge know that I have already sent in my papers to sell out. I want him to believe that I do so now in consequence of his offer.” “It is not likely we shall soon meet, and I may not have an opportunity of mentioning the matter.” “You 'll come to dinner to-day, won't you?” “No.” “You ought, even out of gratitude on _my_ account. It would be only commonly decent to thank him.” “I could n't.” “Couldn't what? Couldn't come, or couldn't thank him?” “Could n't do either. You don't know, Dudley, that whenever our intercourse rises above the common passing courtesies of mere acquaintanceship, it is certain to end in a quarrel. We must never condemn or approve. We must never venture upon an opinion, lest it lead to a discussion, for discussion means a fight.” “Pleasant, certainly,--pleasant and amiable too!” “It would be better, perhaps, that I had some of that happy disposition of my son,” said she, with a cutting tone, “and could submit to whatever suited me.”