r a week or two--Peter extending his
visit to match hers--and went home, within a day of him, in good heart
for the inevitable struggle.

CHAPTER XVII.

The starting of the fuss was thus described by the starter in her first
letter to her friend:

"Oh, my dear, it is simply awful! There is not a scrap of hope. Dear
old Deb is the worst, because she cries--fancy DEB crying! I don't care
what Francie says and does, only, if she were not my sister, I would
never speak to her again. Even Mary is antagonistic, though I don't
believe she would be if it were not for that insufferable husband of
hers; he thinks himself, and puts it into her head, that we are all
going to fall into the bottomless pit if we let trade into the
family--as if nine-tenths and more of the aristocracy of the country
were not traders, and my Peter is as good as her parson any day. But I
don't care, except for Deb. I do hate her to have to cry, through me,
and to be so kind at the same time. She scolds Francie for being
horrid--that does no good, she says, and she is quite right--and then
asks me if I have any love left for her, and all that kind of thing. It
makes me feel like a selfish brute; and yet it would not be unselfish
to sacrifice Peter. Really, I am quite distracted. I have hardly slept
a wink since I came back."

Further details followed:

"I did not know until I got a letter from him (by the gardener) that
Peter came this morning to call--THE call--and was not let in. Keziah
had been got at, you must know, and works against us; the old liar told
him (under instructions, of course) that none of us was at home!--she
that goes to church every Sunday, and pretends to be so pious. Old
hypocrite! Well, as I was reading Peter's letter, the door-bell rings,
and who should it be but old Daddy Breen coming to demand what we mean
by it, snubbing his precious son, whom he thinks good enough for a
princess (and so he is). HE was not going to be turned from the
door--not he; and presently I heard him and Deb at it hammer and tongs
in the drawing-room, and she came up to me afterwards simply in flames.
She WAS wild. My dear, she has left off crying and started to fight.
Papa Breen (I am afraid he is a bit bumptious for what she calls his
class in life) turned the scale, and now she is as implacable as
Francie. She says she will NOT have the house of Pennycuick disgraced
(or words to that effect) while she is alive to prevent it; and when I
a