n his forehead.

CHAPTER 5

After breakfast, and before Arthur Peachey's departure for business,
there had been a scene of violent quarrel between him and his wife. It
took place in the bed-room, where, as usual save on Sunday morning, Ada
consumed her strong tea and heavily buttered toast; the state of her
health--she had frequent ailments, more or less genuine, such as afflict
the indolent and brainless type of woman--made it necessary for her to
repose till a late hour. Peachey did not often lose self-control, though
sorely tried; the one occasion that unchained his wrath was when Ada's
heedlessness or ill-temper affected the well-being of his child. This
morning it had been announced to him that the nurse-girl, Emma, could no
longer be tolerated; she was making herself offensive to her mistress,
had spoken insolently, disobeyed orders, and worst of all, defended
herself by alleging orders from Mr. Peachey. Hence the outbreak of
strife, signalled by furious shrill voices, audible to Beatrice and
Fanny as they sat in the room beneath.

Ada came down at half-past ten, and found Beatrice writing letters. She
announced what any who did not know her would have taken for a final
resolve.

'I'm going--I won't put up with that beast any longer. I shall go and
live at Brighton.'

Her sister paid not the slightest heed; she was intent upon a business
letter of much moment.

'Do you hear what I say? I'm going by the first train this afternoon.'

'All right,' remarked Beatrice placidly. 'Don't interrupt me just now.

The result of this was fury directed against Beatrice, who found herself
accused of every domestic vice compatible with her position. She was a
sordid creature, living at other people's expense,--a selfish, scheming,
envious wretch--

'If I were your husband,' remarked the other without looking up, 'I
should long since have turned you into the street--if I hadn't broken
your neck first.'

Exercise in quarrel only made Ada's voice the clearer and more shrill.
It rose now to the highest points of a not inconsiderable compass. But
Beatrice continued to write, and by resolute silence put a limit to her
sister's railing. A pause had just come about, when the door was thrown
open, and in rushed Fanny, hatted and gloved from a walk.

'He's dead!' she said excitedly. 'He's dead!'

Beatrice turned with a look of interest. 'Who? Mr. Lord?'

'Yes. The blinds are all down. He must have died in the night.