ppose."

"Arrest him! What insolence! As if we hadn't enough trouble of our own
without Dick's affairs crippling us at such a time. He absolutely must
go--especially after the things that cad Ormsby insinuated."

"But how about your own trouble, darling? Why must you have a thousand
dollars?"

"Well, it's an awful matter. You see, I have rather a big bill with a
dressmaker, and I wanted some more new frocks for the Ocklebournes'
parties. She has refused to give me any more credit without security, so
I left some jewelry with her--old-fashioned stuff that I never wear."

"But, my darling, that was practically raising money on heirlooms. Your
father distinctly warned you that the jewels were only lent. They are
his, not yours."

"John, how can you side with father in that way? They are mine, of course
they are. I'm not pawning them. They are just security, that's all."

"It is the same thing, dear one. You certainly ought to get them back."

"It isn't a question of getting them back, John. The woman threatens to
sell them, unless I can let her have a thousand dollars."

"Such a sum is out of the question. You must persuade the woman to
wait."

"That is why I was going up to town to-day. But my debt far exceeds that
sum."

"By how much?"

The rector rarely demanded any details of his wife's money-affairs, or
troubled how she spent her private income. But the time for ceremony was
past. There was a haggard perplexity in his look, and an expression of
fear in his eyes.

"Nearly two thousand, John."

"For dresses--only dresses?"

With a sigh, the rector dropped into his chair. After a moment's
despondency, he commenced to make calculations on his blotting-pad, while
Mary stood looking out of the window, crying a little and shaping a new
resolve. It was useless to go to her dressmaker with empty hands, and the
everlasting cry for money could only be silenced by the one person who
held it all--her father.

Once more, rage against him surged up in her heart, and she relieved her
pent-up feelings in the usual way.

"Oh, it is shameful, shameful! Father is to blame--father! He's driving
us to ruin. There's nothing too bad one can say about him. He deserves to
be robbed of his miserly hoard."

"Hush, hush, dearest," murmured the rector; "your father's money is his
own, not ours. If he were to find out that you had pledged your jewels,
there's no knowing what he might not do."

"Do! What could he do?" she rep