"Yes, I _do_ know what you'd do with it! You'd take it right off and have it probated or executed or whatever it is they do to wills, and turn me straight out in the gutter. That's just what you're _longing_ to do this very moment. Oh, I know, Billy Woods--I know what a temper you've got, and I know you're keeping quiet now simply because you know that's the most exasperating thing you can possibly do. I wouldn't have such a disposition as you've got for the world. You've absolutely _no_ control over your temper--not a bit of it. You're _vile_, Billy Woods! Oh, I _hate_ you! Yes, you've made me cry, and I suppose you're very proud of yourself. _Aren't_ you proud? Don't stand staring at me like a stuck pig, but answer me when I talk to you! Aren't you _proud_ of making me cry? Aren't you? Ah, don't talk to me--don't talk to _me_, I tell you! I don't wish to hear a word you've got to say. I _hate_ you. And you shan't have the money, that's flat." "I don't want it," said Billy. "I've been trying to tell you for the last, half-hour I don't want it. In God's name, why can't you talk like a sensible woman, Peggy?" I am afraid that Mr. Woods, too, was beginning to lose his temper. "That's right--swear at me! It only needed that. You do want the money, and when you say you don't you're lying--lying--_lying_, do you understand? You all want my money. Oh, dear, _dear!_" Margaret wailed, and her great voice was shaken to its depths and its sobbing was the long, hopeless sobbing of a violin, as she flung back her tear-stained face, and clenched her little hands tight at her sides; "why _can't_ you let me alone? You're all after my money--you, and Mr. Kennaston, and Mr. Jukesbury, and all of you! Why _can't_ you let me alone? Ever since I've had it you've hunted me as if I'd been a wild beast. God help me, I haven't had a moment's peace, a moment's rest, a, moment's quiet, since Uncle Fred died. They all want my money--everybody wants my money! Oh, Billy, Billy, why _can't_ they let me alone?" "Peggy----" said he.