“I beg your pardon, my dearest. It isn’t a blessed battle, anyhow. It enlists all one’s worst passions. I began to feel almost that it was a distinction to tell a bigger lie, and cheat worse than my opponent, so long as I got the better of him. If you were not a rich man’s daughter, I think I know what I should do.” “Tell me,” she said. “The house would give us so much income, enough for a backbone, something to fall back upon, pay our little rent, and leave something over for you to pay your milliner’s bill, Maddie. Fancy the pleasure of paying for your bonnets! and then--you don’t mean to tell me I could not get something to do--writing, keeping accounts, nay, teaching, if necessary. I should not be in the least afraid. But, my love, you are a rich man’s daughter, and there is an end of it. I have to satisfy your father--and heaven knows how I am to do it.” “To satisfy him--to a certain point, Gervase. He must not be unreasonable. He has not absolute power, any more than any other authority. I will speak to him.” “Yes, you must speak to him; but in the first place I must speak. I can’t put it all on you. He must hear what I have to say. He will think, and think rightly, that a man who can’t speak for himself is not worth much. And I know that he will scoff at what I say. He will tell me to go about my business. What can I do to your father, Madeline, to bring him over to our side?” She shook her head. “There is only one thing I know, Gervase; if you were to go with your little money into business--it does not matter what----” He made a gesture of despair. “Can a man ever do well what he hates? But I will not say that. I would rather sweep the streets. But if there is nothing else for it, for _you_, Madeline----” They were interrupted by the heavy foot of Mr Thursley coming up-stairs. CHAPTER VIII.