are inclined to
waste money, it's just as well to know how much you are wasting. Those
ponies are costing yon at the least one hundred and fifty pounds a
year, for you could manage with a man less in the stables if you hadn't
got them."

"That's a good deal of money certainly," said Mrs. Winstanley, who
hated driving, and had only driven her ponies because other people in
her position drove ponies, and she felt it was a right thing to do.

Still the idea of parting with anything that appertained to her state
wounded her deeply.

"I can't see why we should worry ourselves about the cost of the
stables," she said; "they have gone on in the same way ever since I was
married. Why should things be different now?"

"Don't you see that you have the future to consider, Pamela. This
handsome income which you are spending so lavishly----"

"Edward never accused me of extravagance," interjected Mrs. Winstanley
tearfully, "except in lace. He did hint that I was a little extravagant
in lace."

"This fine income is to be reduced seven years hence to fifteen hundred
a year an income upon which--with mine added to it--you could not
expect to be able to carry on life decently in such a house as this. So
you see, Pamela, unless we contrive between us to put by a considerable
sum of money before your daughter's majority, we shall be obliged to
leave the Abbey House, and live in a much smaller way than we are
living now."

"Leave the Abbey House!" cried Mrs. Winstanley with a horrified look.
"Conrad, I have lived in this house ever since I was married."

"Am I not aware of that, my dear love? But, all the same, you would
have to let this place, and live in a much smaller house, if you had
only fifteen hundred a year to live upon."

"It would be too humiliating! At the end of one's life. I should never
survive such a degradation."

"It may be prevented if we exercise reasonable economy during the next
seven years."

"Sell my ponies, then, Conrad; sell them immediately. Why should we
allow them to eat us out of house and home. Frisky shies abominably if
she is in the least bit fresh, and Peter has gone so far as to lie down
in the road when he has had one of his lazy fits."

"But if they are really a source of pleasure to you, my dear Pamela, I
should hate myself for selling them," said the Captain, seeing he had
gained his point.

"They are not a source of pleasure. They have given me some awful
frights."

"Then we'll s