There was a little hesitation before the answer came; but it was quite decided then. ‘No, Madame; nothing more, I thank you.’ ‘I hope you may not regret your decision when it is too late,’ said Mrs. Belassis loftily, as she rose and turned away. ‘Good-morning, Monsieur.’ Mrs. Belassis walked home in a state of mind bordering on distraction. She would have given anything in the world to have been absolutely certain that this supposed nephew of hers was an impostor. She hated him so cordially, that no trouble would be too great to compass his ruin, if only she could be sure of her position. She had many grounds of suspicion; many incidents rose to her mind, all pointing to the desired conclusion, and the Italian had certainly told her that Torwood was at Ladywell, and Philip Debenham at sea. But then came maddening doubts of the stranger’s truthfulness; and it would be too humiliating to set on foot a charge which could not be substantiated, especially such a serious one as this. She reached home in a restless and perturbed state, and found that a cloud seemed to hang over the atmosphere of Thornton House. Bertha was pouting and kicking the leg of her chair, and Matilda’s eyes looked as if they had been shedding tears. Her face was angry and discontented. ‘Is anything the matter?’ asked Mrs. Belassis, as she took her seat at the luncheon-table. Neither her husband nor her son were present, and the three ladies had the room to themselves. ‘Nothing particular. I don’t suppose you will care. You never do care for our interests, Matilda’s or mine. Only Phil’s engaged to be married.’ ‘Philip engaged! To whom, pray?’ ‘To Roma Meredith, of all people in the world! We met old Mr. Meredith out driving, and he told us. It is a shame! There’s nothing whatever in her to make him care for her. It’s only because she’s had such chances.’ Mrs. Belassis made no reply. She fancied she might make capital out of what she had just heard. She was convinced that the Italian was in love with Roma, and jealousy is a powerful incentive to revenge. ‘It is too bad!’ cried Matilda, with a half-sob. ‘And Phil was so nice and kind and attentive when he first came, and was always quite friendly until people made it so horrid for him that he couldn’t come any more. I do call it too bad!’ ‘So do I,’ rejoined Bertha. ‘It’s a great shame. I’m sure we had as good a chance as anyone, until mamma spoilt it by being so disagreeable to him.’ Anger and disappointment robbed the two girls of their customary dread of their mother. ‘The best match in the county,’ grumbled Matilda. ‘And we might have taken our chance with anyone, if we’d only had fair play.’ ‘Mamma, how can you sit there smiling in that aggravating way?’ burst out Bertha spitefully. ‘You know it’s your fault. You’ve always set yourself against our interests. I call it dreadful for anyone’s mother to be so unkind. And now you don’t seem to care one bit!’