Before returning to Dinah, whose eyes were fixed in an hypnotic way on the gate through which her beloved would shortly pass, Beatrice cast an anxious glance at the dungeon which did duty as Mr. Alpenny's counting-house. The girl had never been within, as Jarvis was not agreeable that she should enter his Bluebeard chamber. For the rest he allowed her considerable freedom, and she could indulge in any fancy so long as the fancy was cheap. But she was forbidden to set foot in Mammon's shrine, and whether the priest was without, or within, the door was kept locked. It was locked now, and Vivian Paslow was closeted with the usurer, doubtless handing over to Alpenny the few acres that remained to him for a sum of money at exorbitant interest. That the man she loved should be a fly in the parlour of the money-lending spider annoyed Beatrice not a little. Her attention was distracted by another squeal from Dinah, whose emotions were apt to be noisy. "Jerry! oh Jerry!" sighed the damsel, clasping her hands, and in came Mr. Snow, walking swiftly across the grass, apparently as frantic for Dinah as Dinah was for him. At the moment neither lunatic took notice of the amused hostess. "My Dinah! my own!" gasped Jerry, devouring his Dulcinea with two ardent eyes, the light of which was hidden by pince-nez. Jerry assuredly was no beauty, save that his proportions were good, and he dressed very smartly. He possessed a brown skin which matched well with brown hair and moustache, and had about him the freshness of twenty-two years, which is so charming and lasts so short a time. Dinah with her freckles, her drab hair, and nose "tip-tilted like the petal of a flower"--to mercifully quote Tennyson--suited him very well in looks. And then love made both of them look quite interesting, although not even the all-transforming passion could render them anything but homely. Beside the engaged damsel, Beatrice, tall, slender, dark-locked and dark-eyed, looked like a goddess, but Jerry the devoted had no eye for her while Dinah was present. Had he been Paris, Miss Paslow decidedly would have been awarded the apple. Not having one, he stared at Dinah and she at him as though they were meeting for the first time. Beatrice, impatient of this oblivion to her presence, brought them from Heaven to earth. "I have to congratulate you, Mr. Snow," she remarked. "Mr. Snow!" echoed Dinah, jumping up as though a wasp had stung her; "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Beatrice! Haven't you known Jerry for--oh! for ever so long? "For quite three years, dear; but, you see, I don't visit at the Vicarage," and Beatrice spoke with some bitterness, as Jerry's mother had always been unkind to the lonely girl, for reasons connected with what Mrs. Snow regarded as her anomalous position. Jerry coloured and blinked behind his glasses. "I know what you mean, Miss Hedge," he said regretfully, "but don't worry. Call me Jerry as usual; what does it matter what mother thinks?"