it," he said.

She looked up, her beautiful grey eyes full of tears, and tried to smile.

"Thank you," she said; "I am very silly, but I am so disappointed. If you
only knew--. There I will go. Thank you," and in another instant she had
drawn herself up and left the room.

"Well," said Mr. Meeson, senior, who had been sitting at his desk with
his great mouth open, apparently too much astonished to speak. "Well,
there is a vixen for you. But she'll come round. I've known them to do
that sort of thing before--there are one or two down there," and he
jerked his thumb in the direction where the twenty and five tame authors
sat each like a rabbit in his little hutch and did hat-work by the yard,
"who carried on like that. But they are quiet enough now--they don't
show much spirit now. I know how to deal with that sort of
thing--half-pay and a double tale of copy--that's the ticket. Why, that
girl will be worth fifteen hundred a year to the house. What do you
think of it, young man, eh?"

"I think," answered his nephew, on whose good-tempered face a curious
look of contempt and anger had gathered, "I think that you ought to be
ashamed of yourself!"




CHAPTER II.

HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERITED.