"Dying to have the handling of Mr Thornycroft's money," said Deb, with
a bitterness that surprised her sister.

"Oh, no," said she; "you are sufficient attraction without that."

"I shall never know it. But this," thought Deb, "is a very Breen-like
turn that the conversation is taking. These people--and Rose has
become one of them--have quite the tradesman's idea of marriage. Any
'good, kind man' will do. They cannot be expected to understand." She
watched Rose billowing down into her nursing-chair, and pretended to
herself that she was not envious. "It would have been a wildly-rash
experiment to adopt this child, and I shall probably live to be
thankful that my offer was refused," she inwardly argued, while her
beautiful eyes melted at the spectacle of the happy mother snuggling
the babe to her bared breast. "It is a charming little creature now,
but it would probably grow up common, whatever its education and
environment. Blood will tell. And if she took the name of Pennycuick,
she could not pass it on. After all, a boy is best."

So Robert Goldsworthy remained in the position his gifts had gained for
him.

After an admirable meal--in the course of which Deb made herself most
charming to her brother-in-law, while Rose retired as much as
possible from the conversation, in order that he might shine to the
best advantage--those little matters of business that had been
mentioned were discussed. They were trifles invented for the purpose of
compliments to Mr Breen, and the serious energy with which he applied
himself to each case, and his exhaustive treatment of it, showed his
thorough enjoyment of the part alloted to him by the distinguished