She was a large, fair, plump, woman, as smooth and pallid as her husband was grizzled and ruddy. Her obsequious deference to her lord’s views was only surpassed by her lethargic animal indolence. She was like a great, tame, overgrown, white-skinned Puma. Her eyes had the greenish tint of feline eyes, and something of their daylight contraction. Her use of spectacles did not modify this tendency, but rather increased it; for the effect of the round glass orbs pushed up upon her forehead was to enhance the malicious gleam of the little narrow-lidded slits that peered out beneath them. It may be imagined with what weary and ironical detachment the solemn historic portraits of the ancient Seldoms--for the pictures and furniture had been sold with the house--looked out from their gilded frames upon these ambiguous intruders. But neither husband nor wife felt the least touch of “compunctuous visiting” as they made themselves at ease under that immense contempt. “I have been thinking,” said Mr. Romer, puffing a thick cloud of defiant smoke into the air, so that it went sailing up to the very feet of a delicate Reynolds portrait; “I have been thinking that I am really quite unjustified in going on with that allowance to Quincunx. He ought to realize that he has completely exhausted the money your aunt left him. He ought to face the situation, instead of quietly accepting our gift as if it were his right. And they tell me he does not even keep a civil tongue in his head. Lickwit was only complaining the other day about his tampering with our workmen. He has been going about for some time with those damned Andersen fellows, and no doubt encouraging them in their confounded impertinence. “I don’t like the man, my dear;--that is the plain truth. I have never liked him; and he has certainly never even attempted to conceal his dislike of me.” “He is very polite to your face, Mortimer,” murmured the lady. “Exactly,” Mr. Romer rejoined, “to my face he is more than polite. He is obsequious; he is cringing. But behind my back--damn him!--the rascal is a rattlesnake.” “Well, dear, no doubt it has all worked out for the best”; purred the plump woman, softly counting the threads of her knitting. “You were in need of Aunt’s money at the time--in great need of it.” “I know I was,” replied the Promoter of Companies, “I know I was; and he knows I was. That is why I have been giving him six per cent on what he lent me. But the fellow has had more than that. He has had more by this time than the whole original sum; and I tell you, Susan, it’s got to end;--it’s got to end here, now, and forever!” Mr. Romer’s cigar-smoke had now floated up above the feet of the Reynolds Portrait and was invading its gentle and melancholy face. It was a portrait of a young girl in the court-dress of the time, but with such pathetic nun-like features that it was clear that little Vennie was not the only one of her race to have grown weary of this rough world.