either had been suddenly cut off it would
assuredly have gone on railing for an appreciable time--and Clem
waited, sitting before the fire. At last the lodger had departed, and
the last note of her virulence died away.

'And what do _you_ want?' asked Mrs. Peckover, turning sharply upon her
daughter.

'I suppose I can come to see you, can't I?'

'Come to see me! Likely! When did you come last? You're a ungrateful
beast, that's what you are!'

'All right. Go a'ead! Anything else you'd like to call me?'

Mrs. Peckover was hurt by the completeness with which Clem had
established her independence. To do the woman justice, she had been
actuated, in her design of capturing Joseph Snowdon, at least as much
by a wish to establish her daughter satisfactorily as by the
ever-wakeful instinct which bade her seize whenever gain lay near her
clutches. Clem was proving disloyal, had grown secretive. Mrs. Peckover
did not look for any direct profit worth speaking of from the marriage
she had brought about, but she did desire the joy of continuing to plot
against Joseph with his wife. Moreover, she knew that Clem was a
bungler, altogether lacking in astuteness, and her soul was pained by
the thought of chances being missed. Her encounter with the lodger had
wrought her up to the point at which she could discuss matters with
Clem frankly. The two abused each other for a while, but Clem really
desired to communicate her news, so that calmer dialogue presently
ensued.

'Old Snowdon's had a stroke, if you'd like to know, and it's my belief
he won't get over it.'

'Your belief! And what's your belief worth? Had a stroke, has he? Who
told you?'

'I've just come from the 'ouse. Jo's stoppin' there.'

They discussed the situation in all its aspects, but Mrs. Peckover gave
it clearly to be understood that, from her point of view, 'the game was
spoilt.' As long as Joseph continued living under her roof she could in
a measure direct the course of events; Clem had chosen to abet him in
his desire for removal, and if ill came of it she had only herself to
blame.

'I can look out for myself,' said Clem.

'Can you? I'm glad to hear it.'

And Mrs. Peckover sniffed the air, scornfully. The affectionate pair
dined together, each imbibing a pint and a half of 'mild and bitter,'
and Clem returned to Hanover Street. From Joseph she could derive no
information as to the state of the patient.

'If you will stay here, where you can do no goo