ubject herself to his
displeasure. "Lord Hampstead will be here at half-past four--what you
may call the middle of the night--to-morrow morning, Lady Kingsbury,"
said he, repeating an assertion which he had already made to her
two or three times. As he did so he stood in the middle of the room,
looking down upon her with a gaze under which she had often suffered,
but which she did not in the least understand.

"Of course I know he's coming."

"Don't you think it a very improper time, with a sick man in the
house?"

"He won't disturb his father."

"I don't know. There will be the opening and the shutting of the
door, and the servant will be going about the passages, and there
will be the bringing in of the luggage."

"He won't have any luggage." Mr. Greenwood had been aware of this;
but it might be well that he should affect ignorance.

"It is like everything else that he does," he said, being anxious to
induce the stepmother to speak ill of her stepson. But the bent of
her mind had been turned. She was not conscious of the cause which
had produced the change, but she was determined to speak no further
evil of her stepchildren before Mr. Greenwood. "I suppose there is
nothing to be done?" said Mr. Greenwood.

"What should there be to be done? If you do remain here I wish you
would sit down, Mr. Greenwood. You oppress me by standing up in that
way in the middle of the room."

"I do not wonder that you should be oppressed," he said, seating
himself, as was his wont, on the edge of a chair. "I am oppressed,
I know. No one ever says a word to comfort me. What am I to do if
anything should happen?"

"Mr. Greenwood, what is the use of all this?"

"What would you think, Lady Kingsbury, if you had to live all the
rest of your life on an income arising from a thousand pounds?"

"It isn't my fault. What's the good of your coming to me with all
that? I have had nothing to do with the arrangement which Lord
Kingsbury has made with you. You know very well that I do not dare
even to mention your name to him, lest he should order that you
should be turned out of the house."

"Turned out of the house!" he said, jumping off his chair on to his
legs with an alacrity which was quite unusual to him. "Turned out
of the house?--as if I were a dog! No man alive would stand such
language."

"You know very well that I've always stood your friend," said the
Marchioness, alarmed by the man's impetuosity.

"And you tell me that