MRS. MEDWIN
"Is it all you have?"
"All. Now."
"But Mrs. Short Stokes and the others—'rolling,' aren't they? Don't they pay up?"
"Ah," sighed Mamie, "if it wasn't for them———!"
Lady Wantridge perceived. "You've had so much?"
"I couldn't have gone on."
"Then what do you do with it all?"
"Oh, most of it goes back to them. There are all sorts, and it's all help. Some of them have nothing."
"Oh, if you feed the hungry," Lady Wantridge laughed, "you're indeed in a great way of business. Is Mrs. Medwin"—her transition was immediate—"really rich?"
"Really. He left her everything."
"So that if I do say 'yes'———"
"It will quite set me up."
"I see—and how much more responsible it makes one! But I'd rather myself give you the money."
"Oh!" Mamie coldly murmured.
"You mean I mayn't suspect your prices? Well, I daresay I don't! But I'd rather give you ten pounds."
"Oh!" Mamie repeated in a tone that sufficiently covered her prices. The question was in every way larger. "Do you never forgive?" she reproachfully inquired. The door opened, however, at the moment she spoke, and Scott Homer presented himself.
IV
Scott Homer wore exactly, to his sister's eyes, the aspect he had worn the day before, and it also formed, to her sense, the great feature of his impartial greeting.
"How'd ye do, Mamie? How'd ye do, Lady Wantridge?"
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