ced at Mrs. Dagon--"you and I, my dear Mrs. Newt, may talk
confidentially. How much will your husband probably allow Fanny until
Alfred comes into his property?"

Mrs. Dinks leaned back and folded her shawl closely around her, and Mrs.
Dagon hemmed and smiled a smile of perfect incredulity.

"Gracious, gracious! Mrs. Dinks, Mr. Newt won't give her a cent!"
answered Mrs. Newt. As she uttered the words Mrs. Dagon held the enemy
in full survey.

Mrs. Dinks was confounded. That there would be some trouble in arranging
the matter she had expected. But the extreme dolefulness of Mrs. Newt had
already perplexed her; and the prompt, simple way in which she answered
this question precluded the suspicion of artifice. Something was clearly,
radically wrong. She knew that Alfred had six hundred a year from his
father. She had no profound respect for that gentleman; but men are
willful. Suppose he should take a whim to stop it? On the other side, she
knew that Boniface Newt was an obstinate man, and that fathers were
sometimes implacable. Sometimes, even, they did not relent in making
their wills. She knew all about Miss Van Boozenberg's marriage with Tom
Witchet, for it was no secret in society. Was it possible her darling
Alfred might be in actual danger of such penury--at least until he came
into his property? And what property was it, and what were the chances
that old Burt would leave him a cent?

These considerations instantly occupied her mind as Mrs. Newt spoke; and
she saw more clearly than ever the necessity of propitiating old Burt.

At length she asked, with an undismayed countenance, and with even a show
of smiling:

"But, Mrs. Newt, why do you take so cheerless a view of your husband's
intentions in this matter?"

The words that her husband had spoken in his wrath had rung in Mrs.
Newt's mind ever since, and they now fell, echo-like, from her tongue.

"Because he said that, daughter or no daughter, she shall lie in the bed
she has made."

Mrs. Dinks could not help showing a little chagrin. It was the sign for
Mrs. Newt to burst into fresh sorrow. Mrs. Dagon was as rigid as a bronze
statue.

"Very well, then, Mrs. Newt," said her visitor, rising, "Mr. Newt will
have the satisfaction of seeing his daughter starve."

"Oh, her husband will take care of that," said the bronze statue,
blandly.

"My son Alfred," continued Mrs. Dinks, "has an allowance of six hundred
dollars a year, no profession, and expectatio