“And I can tell you this, Di, marry you must and whether you would or no, for needs must when the devil drives, and I know no devil like an empty purse. Things are going down child, down! You know we scarce have visitors now, and none but those to be ashamed of,—and listen in your ear—(she glanced fearfully at the door) ’twas but last night when you was gone to bed that Mr. Fenton told me plump out that things were slipping from bad to worse. And, says he, if Di’s pretty face is to be shut away from my customers that’s left I won’t be answerable for the consequences! He did so, child! and when I asked his meaning, says he— ‘I would have her come down and sing for my customers and be pretty-behaved with them, and there’s no harm to her and gain to me that may keep us all off the parish.’ I cried, Di, indeed I did, child, but he took no heed.” Mrs. Diana’s fine dark brows were drawn together and her lips in a stern line above her pearls of teeth. Perhaps these news did not come so surprising to her as her mamma might suppose. But she said nothing. Mrs. Fenton continued—her handkerchief to her eyes, her ample bosom heaving with sobs. “So you see, child, well may my thoughts turn to marriage and a good home for you, where perhaps there might be a knife and fork laid for your poor mamma if things go from bad to worse, for I won’t have my child made a decoy, so I won’t! No, not to please Mr. Fenton nor any man on earth. What would your dear father have said that had such high notions of honour? Why, don’t I remember his saying last time he went—‘Lavinia, if when I come next I find my girl come to any harm ’tis you are answerable and I’ll have your heart’s blood if I swing for it!’ Ah, ’twas him for handsome uplifted notions of honour. I can hear him say it so fine!” ’Twas bewildering certainly for a young girl still in her teens to adjust the rights and wrongs in such cases. Our poor girl could scarce have made a worse choice of parents all things considered. And besides all this she had herself to contend with, and she so young! Even the blossom was not set, much less any show of fruit. Indeed she was helpless in the face of her own emotion, ignorant but passionate and slave of the desire to express herself in some form that would catch the world’s approval. And ’tis true she hated such men as came her way, plumbed their shallows, (for deeps they had none) and then scornfully passed on. She saw no help in any but her own powers. In a certain fashion however her mamma’s words now gave her courage. But let her speak for herself. “I wish my mamma to know I am resolved to leave Mr. Fenton’s house.” She leaned upward affectionately and put her arms about her mother, and would have said more, but was violently interrupted. “Leave Mr. Fenton’s house! Lord, what words are these? And not to be married? For what reason?”