The old woman nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I see; I know Rose doesn’t love him; I wish she did, I hope and pray she may! But that’s neither here nor there; as for the money, Robert won’t have it.” “Then I shall return the picture, and I should like to keep it, especially if Rose goes abroad.” She looked at him with exasperation. “You know Rose can’t go without that money; you just admitted that you couldn’t afford it!” “Which was not an appeal for charity,” flashed the judge hotly. “Stephen, I’m ashamed of you!” she exclaimed, then her eyes brightened and she looked at him with new defiance. “You can’t have the picture, Robert will keep it; he loves it better than anything else; you shan’t insult him with money for it; I won’t have it, sir! Where are your old ideas of chivalry? One would suppose that you were one of these new vulgar people who think that money is the criterion of everything, that they can buy shares in paradise! You’ve lived too long in the neighborhood of the new rich; I’m really ashamed of you. I hated to have Robert part with the picture anyway; he shan’t do it now for he’ll never take pay for it!” The judge looked blank, his hands trembled. “But I wanted it!” he said plaintively, “I can’t stand in the child’s light but--” he passed his shaking hand over his forehead--“I shall miss her terribly.” Mrs. Allestree nodded wisely without any sign of relenting. “I know,” she said, “so shall I! But Robert won’t take pay for the picture; I fancy _you_ selling a picture of the woman you loved!” The old man sighed profoundly, staring at the floor, distinctly aware that she was tapping her foot impatiently and eying him like an angry sparrow, her head on one side. The silence was painful, they both heard the bees in the trumpet creeper which hung blooming over the bow-window. After a while she stole a cautious amused look at him, then she stirred eagerly in her chair. “Stephen, I’ve just thought of a way! Robert will, of course, keep the picture, but he’ll lend it to you while Rose is away.” Her manner was a trifle too elaborately casual, but the judge did not observe it; a shamed look of relief stole over his face, he passed his handkerchief across his brow, pushing back the scant white hair. “And I can give it back as soon as she comes home,” he said with almost an eager note in his voice. “Yes,” Mrs. Allestree replied in a matter-of-fact tone, stern business in her eye as she added: “you’ll have to give it back at once, Stephen, and, of course, you’ll be responsible for it while it’s here. Now, you give that check to Rose, I want to hear the child sing.” The judge sighed profoundly, his head bowed. “I’d rather be whipped, Jane,” he said brokenly, “but the child has set her heart on it--and I’ve shown myself an old fool!”