"And what do you think, aunt?" The older woman coughed. She thought that her niece was much too pretty, and much too independent, but had no ill-feeling toward her, save a natural petty feminine jealousy. "I don't know what to think," she said, sitting down to gossip. "Of course, your father is impossible, and always wants his own way. I don't see why folks should not be allowed to choose husbands for themselves. Jabez"--this was Huxham's Christian name--"objects to my marrying Henry, and to your becoming the wife of this Lister person." "Don't speak of Cyril in that way," said Bella, with some impatience; "he is a gentleman, and the man I love. By the way, aunt, you might have brought up the teapot. I dislike anyone else to pour out my tea." "Your father poured it out himself while I went to the kitchen for the toast," snapped Mrs. Coppersley; "he said you were to have only this one cup." "What a petty tyrant he is," sighed Bella, pushing the cup away. "Aunt, what do you think of Cyril?" "He is very handsome," rejoined Mrs. Coppersley cautiously, "but I don't know anything about his position or disposition." "I know he is the dearest fellow in the world, aunt; but, like yourself, his position is unknown to me." Mrs. Coppersley rose aghast. "Do you mean to say that you would marry a man about whom you know nothing?" she demanded. "I know sufficient to choose him for my husband," retorted Bella, spiritedly; "and I intend to marry him, in spite of my father's bullying." "Then your father will not give you a single penny," cried Mrs. Coppersley. "I approve of his doing so. You can't marry this man." "Oh!" said Bella, bitterly. "I thought you agreed that a woman should choose her own husband." "A woman like myself, who knows life, Bella--not a chit of a girl like you." "I am twenty years of age," flashed out her niece. "And have the sense of a babe of three," scoffed Mrs. Coppersley, moving towards the door. "Perhaps a night of loneliness will bring you to your senses, my dear." She passed through the door and closed it. "I am locking you in, by your father's wish," said Mrs. Coppersley from the other side. Bella, white with rage at this indignity, sprang to wrench open the door, but almost before she reached it, the key clicked in the lock, and she knew that she was a prisoner. And the door was so stout and strong that there was no chance of a frail girl, such as she was, breaking it down. But Bella was in a royal rage, and it was in her mind to scramble out of the window and escape.