money, where else lay either her duty or her inclination? She did
not love him, but he was her one interest, the only tie that united her
with the living moving world and the alluring future years, more
precious to her since she could see so few of them.

"I don't mean to make myself uncomfortable," said Miss Quisante. "How
much do you want?" He stopped and turned round quickly with a gleam of
eagerness in his eyes, as though he had a vision of much wealth. "No,
no," she added with a surly chuckle, "the least you'll take is the most
I'll give."

"I owe money."

"Who to?" she asked, setting her cap uncompromisingly straight. "Jews?"

"No. Dick Benyon."

"That money you'll never pay. I shan't consider that."

The young man's eyes rested on her in a long sombre glance; he seemed
annoyed but not indignant, like a lawyer whose formal plea is brushed
aside somewhat contemptuously by an impatient truth-loving judge.

"You've got five hundred a year or thereabouts," she went on, "and no
wife."

He threw himself into a chair; his face broke into a sudden smile,
curiously attractive, although neither sweet nor markedly sincere.
"Exactly," he said. "No wife. Well, shall I get one with five hundred a
year?" He laughed a little. "An election any fine day would leave me
penniless," he added.

"There's Dick Benyon," observed the old lady.

"They talk about that too much already," said Quisante.

"Come, Sandro, you're not sensitive."

"And Lady Richard hates me. Besides if you want to impress fools, you
must respect their prejudices. Give me a thousand a year; for the
present, you know."

He asked nearly half the old lady's income; she sighed in relief. "Very
well, a thousand a year," she said. "Make a good show with it. Live
handsomely. It'll pay you to live handsomely."

A genuine unmistakable surprise showed itself on his face; now there was
even the indignation which a reference to non-payment of debts had
failed to elicit.

"I shall do something with it, you might know that," he said
resentfully.

"Something honest, I mean."

"What?"

"Well, something not criminal," she amended, chuckling again. "I'm sorry
to seem to know you so well," she added.

"Oh, we know one another pretty well," said he with a nod. "Never the
jam without the powder from you."

"But always the jam," said old Maria. "And you'll find the world a good
deal like your aunt, Sandro."

An odd half-cunning half-eager gleam shot across h