nows what,
don't tell me. Oh, my poor chest!"

"I think you may make your mind quite easy," said Lancelot grimly. "I'm
sure Mary Ann is perfectly satisfied with your treatment."

"But she ain't--there, listen! don't you hear her going on?" Poor Mary
Ann's sobs were still audible, though exhaustion was making them momently
weaker. "She's been going on like that ever since I broke the news to
'er and gave her a piece of my mind--the sly little cat! She wanted to
go on scrubbing the kitchen, and I had to take the brush away by main
force. A nice thing, indeed! A gel as can keep a nors-end-kerridge down
on the cold kitchen stones! 'Twasn't likely I could allow that. 'No,
Mary Ann,' says I firmly, 'you're a lady, and if you don't know what's
proper for a lady, you'd best listen to them as does. You go and buy
yourself a dress and a jacket to be ready for that vicar, who's been a
real good kind friend to you. He's coming to take you away on Monday, he
is, and how will you look in that dirty print? Here's a suvrin,' says I,
'out of my 'ard-earned savin's--and get a pair o' boots, too; you can git
a sweet pair for 2s. 11d. at Rackstraw's afore the sale closes,' and with
that I shoves the suvrin into 'er hand instead o' the scrubbin' brush,
and what does she do? Why, busts out a-cryin', and sits on the damp
stones, and sobs, and sulks, and stares at the suvrin in her hand as if
I'd told her of a funeral instead of a fortune!" concluded Mrs.
Leadbatter alliteratively.

"But you did--her brother's death," said Lancelot. "That's what she's
crying about."

Mrs. Leadbatter was taken aback by this obverse view of the situation;
but, recovering herself, she shook her head. "_I_ wouldn't cry for no
brother that lef me to starve when he was rollin' in two and a 'arf
million dollars," she said sceptically. "And I'm sure my Rosie wouldn't.
But she never 'ad nobody to leave her money, poor dear child, except me,
please Gaud. It's only the fools as 'as the luck in _this_ world." And
having thus relieved her bosom, she resumed her panting progress upwards.

The last words rang on in Lancelot's ears long after he had returned to
his room. In the utter breakdown and confusion of his plans and his
ideas it was the one definite thought he clung to, as a swimmer in a
whirlpool clings to a rock. His brain refused to concentrate itself on
any other aspect of the situation--he could not, would not, dared not,
think of anythin