She threw herself back on the sofa, and resumed her novel; but anger,
darting from her eyes, contrasted with the trained smile which still
remained on her lips.

A dark shade of passion and scorn came over John Lawson's face, but
he strove to suppress it, and his voice was calm when he spoke.

"Some time before my son married you, I gave up all my business to
him--I came to live here amongst trees and flowers--I gave up all
the lucrative business I had carried on to my son, partly because my
health was failing, and I longed to live with nature, away from the
scenes of traffic; but more especially because I loved my son with
no common love, and I trusted to him as to a second self. I was not
disappointed--we had one purse and one heart before he married you;
he never questioned me concerning what I spent in charity--he never
asked to limit in any way my expenditure--he loved you, and I made
no conditions concerning what amount of income I was to receive, but
still I left him in entire possession of my business when he married
you. I trusted to your fair, young face, that you would not controvert
my wishes--that you would join me in my schemes of charity."

"And have I not?" interrupted Mrs. Lawson, in a sharp voice, though
the habitual smile still graced her lips; "do I not subscribe to, I
don't know how many, charitable institutions? Charity, indeed--there's
enough spent in charity by myself and my husband. But I wish to stop
extravagance--it is only extravagance to spend so much on charity as
you would do if you could; therefore, you shall not have any money
just now."

Mrs. Lawson was one of those women who can cheerfully expend a most