“It would only hold the whole of your house, kitchen and all,” cried Patty; “and it’s where I choose people to come,” she added decisively, “when they’ve that little sense as to come in the morning, when _no_ lady receives.” “Oh, that’s how I am to be met, is it?” said Miss Hewitt, “you little ungrateful wretch! It was nothing but dear aunt, and how good I was, when you came to me to help you. Ah! you had to come to me to help to secure him at the last--and him nothing but a Softy. If I had had somebody to stand for me like I did for you, Miss Patty, Greyshott would have been a very different place, and you’d never have got your nose in here!” “Well, Aunt,” said Patty, “if those are your ideas, you can’t wonder that I shouldn’t want you. For if you had married Sir Giles, which I suppose is what you mean, and would never have let me get my nose in, you’ll understand that I don’t want your nose in. I wouldn’t have said it so plump if you hadn’t begun. Though I don’t believe Sir Giles ever thought of such a thing, now I know him well.” “He’s not a Softy, you see,” said the angry old lady, with a snort. “No,” said Patty, sedately; “he’s not a Softy. I should think he’d had a good deal of common-sense in his day. But I don’t want to quarrel,” she added; “whatever you may do. No doubt you’ve come about your money, which is quite natural. You shall have your money, Aunt Patience. It wasn’t so needful as I thought it would be, for Mr. Piercey had plenty for what was wanted; but, of course, I’m much obliged to you all the same.” “Oh, Mr. Piercey: that’s what you call the Softy now!” cried Miss Hewitt, in high scorn. “It’s what I always called him, and it’s his name and mine too. I’m Mrs. Piercey, as the heir’s wife, and not Mrs. Gervase. My father-in-law says so, and he ought to know.” “Oh, your father-in-law,” cried Miss Hewitt, with extreme bitterness; “you’ve changed all your relations, I see. When it comes to a person to disown their debts and their folks----” “I do neither the one nor the other,” cried Patty. “You shall have every penny of your fifty pounds--and interest, if you like, with that. And everybody knows my folks,” she cried, with a toss of her head. “Oh, no fear that they’ll ever be forgotten. Father’s been here with the smell of beer about him like to knock you down, and when I told him I couldn’t bear it, what does he do but fling out of the house cursing and swearing, and letting everybody see.” “Well, your father is a trial,” Miss Hewitt allowed candidly. “I don’t wonder, Patty, as you were hurt; but so was he, and he won’t come back no more, won’t Richard. You can’t, anyhow, my pet, have the same objections to me.” Miss Hewitt held her head aloft, and her golden flowers nodded and rustled. The complacency of her smile, and the confidence that in her there was nothing to find fault with, was too much even for Patty. She could not say the words that came to her lips.