“All these things are no concern of yours,” said Hurstmanceaux gravely. “Pray give your attention to what does concern you. Your jointure is a narrow one. Out of it you should surrender two thousand a year for twenty years to pay off your personal debts. How can you keep on any London house on what will be left to you? Of course the children live with you and bring you in something, but very little, for there is next to nothing at present; the charges on the estate are so heavy, as we demonstrated to you the other day. What will you do if you can’t break yourself in to some sort of economy and sacrifice?” She deigned no reply. She had really none ready. She was only intensely, bitterly, furiously angry. If she could not live in the way she liked she did not care to live at all. She was very pale, with the pallor of deep anger; her lips were white and her blue eyes dark and flashing. How she hated everybody! How above all she hated that little dead beast who had left her tied hand and foot like this! “Surely you must see,” her brother said with pain, “that in the position in which I stand toward you I must be more strict with you, my sister, than it might be necessary to be with a stranger?” “How exactly like your priggish humbug!” she cried furiously. “Nobody else would take such a view. What is the use of connections if they don’t make things smooth?” “I am well aware that it is the only purpose of my own existence in your eyes,” said Hurstmanceaux; “you have taught me that long ago. But I am afraid you will find others less indulgent than I have been, and I am sorry to say, whether you understand it or not, I cannot myself be indulgent to you at the expense of your sons.” She gave an impatient gesture. “You always get on your moral hobbyhorse,” she said insolently. “I believe there was never such a prig in all creation. I wish you would go away. You are wasting for me all this fine morning.” There was silence between them. Hurstmanceaux broke it by a question he was half afraid to put. “I have to apologize for asking you, but I should be glad to know--I suppose you mean to marry Brancepeth?” She threw back her head and looked at him with distended nostrils breathing defiance. “Pray why should I marry Lord Brancepeth?” Hurstmanceaux hesitated; he was astonished and embarrassed. “Well, everybody expects you to do so; it would be natural and proper that you should; it is the only thing you can do to--to----” He paused; he had never spoken to her of Brancepeth, it hurt him to do so; he grew red with embarrassment for her. He could not have used any words which could have stung, infuriated and embittered her more than these unfortunate and far too candid phrases. Coming after the scene of an hour before, they were like petroleum poured on a leaping flame.