“I am quite aware of that! You’d have to obey me if you were! But you have no right to speak so rudely to the Professor, especially when you consider that you owe everything to him.” “Do I?” retorted the girl, “I think the boot’s on the other foot! I consider that he owes everything to me! Haven’t I brought his wife back to him, that he was hankering after for years. Who else could ’ave done that, eh? Why! I’ve heard you say yourself, that I’m the most wonderful medium in the world! I think it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other, when you come to look at it.” “Maybe, Hannah, and I know you make him a good kind wife on the whole. But you mustn’t forget that he’s an old man now, and has broken down considerably during the last few months. So you must be more considerate of him than ever. He works too hard for his strength. Sometimes I am afraid it will not hold out much longer!” “O! he’s all right,” said Hannah, with a lack of feeling that struck the Doctor as not only very unlike her usual disposition, but very contemptible into the bargain. “Them old men never die! Though I don’t s’pose there’d be much left for me, if he did!” “You are unfeeling--unnatural--I am ashamed of you, Hannah,” exclaimed Steinberg, as he rose to leave her, “and you forget that you are speaking of _my friend_. I have a great affection for the Professor, and if anything happened to him, I should be deeply grieved.” “Well, I didn’t say any ’arm,” replied the girl sullenly, as she returned to her work. This conversation did not seem to make any coolness on Hannah’s part towards the Doctor--on the contrary, she appeared to like him all the better for speaking in defence of his friend. She commenced to hang about him more than usual, on the occasions of his being at home, and once or twice Steinberg detected a tone in her voice, or a glance in her eye, which struck him unpleasantly at the moment, and still more so, when he came to reflect upon the cause. What could she mean by them? Surely, she could never imagine that he would play his nearest friend false, for the sake of a face and figure like hers? He put the idea away from him, again and again, as derogatory to himself and the honour of Ricardo’s wife--but it haunted him all the same. Has the reader ever encountered pictured eyes of villainy or lust which have seemed to follow him wherever he went? So did the eyes of Hannah Ricardo follow Steinberg, until he was fain to remember them, whether he would or no. She never betrayed herself, nor said a word that might be construed to her own undoing--but she gave Steinberg the impression, that the feeling was there, all the same. He began to avoid her, as much as possible, leaving the cottage as early as he could, and returning late. He was rather an attractive young man, as has been said before--being only thirty years old, and having a fair German face, which struck most people as pleasant to look upon.