'Mr. Crewe.'

With a significant giggle, Fanny glanced at the more sober of her
sisters; she, the while, touched her upper lip with the point of her
tongue, and looked towards the window.

'Does he?' Fanny asked of the ceiling.

'He wants money to float his teetotal drink,' said Beatrice. 'Hasn't
he been at Arthur about it?'

'Not that I know,' answered the wife.

'He tried to get round me, but I--'

A scream of incredulity from Fanny, and a chuckle from Mrs. Peachey,
covered the rest of the sentence. Beatrice gazed at them defiantly.

'Well, idiots! What's up now?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'There's nobody knows Luckworth Crewe better than I do,' Beatrice
pursued disdainfully, 'and I think he knows _me_ pretty well. He'll
make a fool of himself when he marries; I've told him so, and he as
good as said I was right. If it wasn't for that, I should feel a
respect for him. He'll have money one of these days.'

'And he'll marry Nancy Lord,' said Ada tauntingly.