"Mean!" The usurer stretched out a skinny hand, which resembled the claw of a bird of preys as he looked like. "Why, I mean, my girl, that I hold Vivian Paslow there," and he tapped his palm. "Still I don't understand," said Beatrice, her blood running cold at the malignant look on his face. "There is no need you should," rejoined her stepfather coolly. "He is not for you, and you are not for him. Do you understand that?" It was unwise for Alpenny to meddle with a maiden's fancies, for the girl's outraged womanhood revolted. "I understand that you mean to be impertinent, Mr. Alpenny," she said, with a flaming colour. "'Mr. Alpenny'? Why not 'father,' as usual?" "Because you are no father of mine, and I thank God for it." He gave her a vindictive look, and rubbed his hands together, with the croak of a hungry raven. "I brought you up, I educated you, I fed you, I housed you, I----" Beatrice waved her hand impatiently. "I know well what you have done," said she; "as little as you could." "Here's gratitude!" "And common sense, Mr. Alpenny. I know nothing, save that you married my mother and promised to look after me when she died." "I promised nothing," snapped Alpenny. "Durban says that you did." "Durban is, what he always was, a fool. I promised nothing to your mother--at all events, concerning you. Why should I? You are not my own flesh and blood." "Anyone can tell that," said Beatrice disdainfully. "No impertinence, miss. I have fed and clothed you, and educated you, and housed you----" "You said that before." "All at my own expense," went on the miser imperturbably, "and out of the kindness of my heart. This is the return you make, by giving me sauce! But you had better take care," he went on menacingly, and shaking a lean yellow finger, "I am not to be trifled with." "Neither am I," retorted Beatrice, who felt in a fighting humour. "I am sorry to have been a burden to you, and for what you have done I thank you; but I am weary of stopping here. Give me a small sum of money and let me go." "Money!" screeched the miser, touched on his tenderest point. "Money to waste?" "Money to keep me in London until I can obtain a situation as a governess or as a companion. Come, father," she went on coaxingly, "you must be sick of seeing me about here. And I am so tired of this life!" "It's the wickedness in your blood, Beatrice. Just like your mother--oh, dear me, how very like your mother!" "Leave my mother's character alone!" said Beatrice impatiently, "she is dead and buried." "She is--in Hurstable churchyard, under a beautiful tomb I got second-hand at a bargain. See how I loved her." "You never loved anyone in your life, Mr. Alpenny," said the girl, freezing again. Alpenny's brow grew black, and he looked at her with glittering eyes. "You are mistaken, child," he said, quietly. "I have loved and lost." "My mother----?"