'Let us hope your trust in her is justified,' sighed the mischief-maker, and passed into the sickroom, leaving Mosk with an uneasy feeling that something was wrong. If the man had a tender spot in his heart it was for his handsome daughter; and it was with a vague fear that, after presenting his wife to her visitors, he went downstairs to the bar. Mrs Pansey had a genius for making mischief by a timely word. 'Bell,' said he, gruffly, 'what's that old cat hinting at?' 'What about?' asked Bell, tossing her head till all her ornaments jingled, and wiping the counter furiously. 'About you! She don't think I should trust you.' 'What right has she to talk about me, I'd like to know!' cried Bell, getting as red as a peony. 'I've never done anything that anyone can say a word against me.' 'Who said you had?' snapped her father; 'but that old cat hints.' 'Let her keep her hints to herself, then. Because I'm young and good-looking she wants to take my character away. Nasty old puss that she is!' 'That's just it, my gal. You're too young and good-looking to escape folks' talking; and I hear that young Mr Pendle comes round when I'm away.' 'Who says he doesn't, father? It's to see mother; he's a parson, ain't he?' 'Yes! and he's gentry too. I won't have him paying attention to you.' 'You'd better wait till he does,' flashed out Bell. 'I can take care of myself, I hope.' 'If I catch him talking other than religion to you I'll choke him in his own collar,' cried Mr Mosk, with a scowl; 'so now you know.' 'I know as you're talking nonsense, father. Time enough for you to interfere when there's cause. Now you clear out and let me get on with my work.' Reassured by the girl's manner, Mosk began to think that Mrs Pansey's hints were all moonshine, and after cooling himself with a glass of beer, went away to look into his betting-book with some horsey pals. In the meantime, Mrs Pansey was persecuting his wife, a meek, nervous little woman, who was propped up with pillows in a large bed, and seemed to be quite overwhelmed by the honour of Mrs Pansey's call. 'So you are weak in the back, are you?' said the visitor, in loud tones. 'If you are, what right have you to marry and bring feeble children into the world?' 'Bell isn't feeble,' said Mrs Mosk, weakly. 'She's a fine set-up gal.' 'Set-up and stuck-up,' retorted Mrs Pansey. 'I tell you what, my good woman, you ought to be downstairs looking after her.' 'Lord! mum, there ain't nothing wrong, I do devoutly hope.' 'Nothing as yet; but you shouldn't have young gentlemen about the place.' 'I can't help it, mum,' said Mrs Mosk, beginning to cry. 'I'm sure we must earn our living somehow. This is an 'otel, isn't it? and Mosk's a pop'lar character, ain't he? I'm sure it's hard enough to make ends meet as it is; we owe rent for half a year and can't pay--and won't pay,' wailed Mrs Mosk, 'unless my 'usband comes 'ome on Skinflint.' 'Comes home on Skinflint, woman, what do you mean?'