‘An’ if ‘arm comes to her, what then?’ returned Mrs. Hewett plaintively. ‘We know well enough why Mrs. Tubbs wants her; it’s only because she’s good-lookin’, an’ she’ll bring more people to the bar. John knows that, an’ it makes him wild. Mind what I’m tellin’ you, Sidney; if any ‘arm comes to that girl, her father’ll go out of his ‘ead. I know he will! I know he will! He worships the ground as she walks on, an’ if it hadn’t been for that, she’d never have given him the trouble as she is doin’. It ‘ud a been better for her if she’d had a father like mine, as was a hard, careless man. I don’t wish to say no ‘arm of him as is dead an’ buried, an’ my own father too, but he was a hard father to us, an’ as long as he lived we dursn’t say not a word as he didn’t like. He’d a killed me if I’d gone on like Clara. It was a good thing as he was gone, before—’ ‘Don’t, don’t speak of that,’ interposed Kirkwood, with kindly firmness. ‘That’s long since over and done with and forgotten.’ ‘No, no; not forgotten. Clara knows, an’ that’s partly why she makes so little of me; I know it is.’ ‘I don’t believe it! She’s a good-hearted girl—’ A heavy footstep on the stairs checked him. The door was thrown open, and there entered a youth of nineteen, clad as an artisan. He was a shapely fellow, though not quite so stout as perfect health would have made him, and had a face of singular attractiveness, clear-complexioned, delicate featured, a gleam with intelligence. The intelligence was perhaps even too pronounced; seen in profile, the countenance had an excessive eagerness; there was selfish force about the lips, moreover, which would have been better away. His noisy entrance indicated an impulsive character, and the nod with which he greeted Kirkwood was self-sufficient. ‘Where’s that medal I cast last night, mother?’ he asked, searching in various corners of the room and throwing things about. ‘Now, do mind what you’re up to, Bob!’ remonstrated Mrs. Hewett. ‘You’ll find it on the mantel in the other room. Don’t make such a noise.’ The young man rushed forth, and in a moment returned. In his hand, which was very black, and shone as if from the manipulation of metals, he held a small bright medal. He showed it to Sidney, saying, ‘What d’you think o’ that?’ The work was delicate and of clever design; it represented a racehorse at full speed, a jockey rising in the stirrups and beating it with orthodox brutality. ‘That’s “Tally-ho” at the Epsom Spring Meetin’,’ he said. ‘I’ve got money on him!’ And, with another indifferent nod, he flung out of the room. Before Mrs. Hewett and Kirkwood could renew their conversation, there was another step at the door, and the father of the family presented himself. CHAPTER III A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY Kirkwood’s face, as he turned to greet the new-comer, changed suddenly to an expression of surprise. ‘Why, what have you been doing to your hair?’ he asked abruptly.