The reply nearly knocked me down. "Because you're too sensible a girl. He's as stupid as an owl." "He's very good and kind," was all I could find to say. "Yes; but what's that? A girl like you needs more than a man who's only good and kind. Heavens above, you'll want some spice in your life!" I maintained my meek air as I said: "I could do without the spice if I could be sure of bread and butter." "Oh, if you're marrying for a home let me tell you you won't get it. Hugh'll never be able to offer you one, and his father wouldn't let him if he was." I decided to be bold. "But you heard what I said the other day, madam. I expect his father to come round." She uttered the queer cackle that was like a hen when it crows. "Oh, you do, do you? You don't know Howard Brokenshire. You could break him more easily than you could bend him--and you can't break him. Good Lord, girl, I've tried!" "But I haven't," I returned, quietly. "Now I'm going to." "How? What with? You can't try if you've nothing to try on." "I have." "For Heaven's sake--what?" I was going to say, "Right"; but I knew it would sound sententious. I had been sententious enough in talking about my country. Now I only smiled. "You must let me keep that as a secret," I answered, mildly. She gave herself what I can only call a hitch in her chair. "Then may I be there to see." "I hope you may be, madam." "Oh, I'll come," she cackled. "Don't worry about that. Just let me know. You'll have to fight like the devil. I suppose you know that." I replied that I did. "And when it's all over you'll have got nothing for your pains." "I shall have had the fight." She looked hard at me before speaking. "Good girl!" The tone was that of a spectator who calls out, "Good hit!" or, "Good shot!" at a game. "If that's all you want--" "No; I want Hugh." "Then I hope you won't get him. He's as big a dolt as his father, and that's saying a great deal." Terrified, I glanced over my shoulder at the house, but she went on imperturbably: "Oh, I know he's in there; but what do I care? I'm not saying anything behind his back that I haven't said to his face. He doesn't bear me any malice, either, I'll say that for him." "Nobody could--" I began, deferentially. "Nobody had better. But that's neither here nor there. All I'm telling you is to have nothing to do with Hugh Brokenshire. Never mind the money; what you need is a husband with brains. Don't I know? Haven't I been through it? My husband was kind and good, just like Hugh Brokenshire--and, O Lord! The sins of the father are visited on the children, too. Look at my daughter--pretty as a picture and not the brains of a white mouse." She nodded at me fiercely, "You're my kind. I can see that. Mind what I say--and be off." She turned abruptly to her book, hitching her chair a little away from me. Accepting my dismissal, I said in the third person, as though I was speaking to a royalty: