“Have I?” said the girl coolly. “I thought only people in novelettes made good marriages. What do you mean by making a good marriage, exactly?” “Now, don’t be tiresome, Yvonne,” said Mrs. Yale. “I’ve been a good mother to you. I’ve done my best to bring around you the most eligible men in London. I’ve spent money like water--which reminds me, we shall have to have that kitchen range seen to; Martha tells me it’s smoking again, and she can’t get the oven hot. Where was I?--Oh, I was saying, I have spent money like water, and I think I am entitled to some return. Not,” she hastened to say, “that I expect any monetary reward for my sacrifices----” Yvonne had heard all this before. In one form or another this conversation was almost a daily feature of her life. “I can’t help thinking, my dear,” said Mrs. Yale, putting her head on one side and looking at her stepdaughter with her pale blue eyes opened to their widest extent. “I cannot help thinking that you have not always appreciated my efforts. That new dress, for instance, which I bought at the summer sales--you have never worn it.” “It’s totally unsuitable for me, mother,” said Yvonne. “I thought I told you so. It’s not the kind of dress that I should care to be seen walking in. I’d always much rather choose my own.” “That’s pique,” said her stepmother. “That’s naughty pique.” Yvonne made no reply. It was useless to argue the point. “Then, the other night, when Mr. de Costa called to congratulate you on your rescue from those horrid China people”--Yvonne’s lips curled scornfully--“you came down absolutely without a jewel on. Yet, in your room, on your own table, for you to wear, are my own pearls--my own bangles.” Yvonne smiled. “My dear mother,” she said, “I will not wear imitation pearls, even to please you, and most certainly I will not wear any kind of jewel which everybody, who is in the habit of coming to this house, has seen round your neck at least a dozen times. You see they are rather unmistakable,” she said carefully. “If they were real, they could not be worth less than fifty thousand pounds.” “There is a certain finesse in these things,” said Mrs. Yale vaguely; but she did not pursue the topic. She waited until her own meal was nearly at an end, and the girl was folding her serviette preparatory to leaving the table, before she returned to the attack. “What about young De Costa?” she asked. “What about him?” “Has he proposed to you?” “I really forget,” said Yvonne carelessly. “These people do propose in a way--almost mechanically. I don’t like him--he is rather a worm.” Mrs. Yale frowned. “A most unkind description,” she said severely. “His father is immensely rich. He gave you a beautiful bangle which I never see you wearing, by the way.” She paused for an explanation, but Yvonne offered none. “And what of Captain Talham?” Yvonne rose from the table.