She knows all about wants--no one has more than mamma." Mr.Cashmore soundlessly glared his amusement.

"So she'll say it's all right ?" "Oh no; she'll let me have it hot.

But she'll recognise that at such a pass more must be done for a fellow, and that may lead to something--indirectly, don't you see?
for she won't TELL my father, she'll only, in her own way, work on him--that will put me on a better footing and for which therefore at bottom I shall have to thank YOU!" The eye assisted by Mr.Cashmore's glass had with a discernible growth of something like alarm fixed during this address the subject of his beneficence.

The thread of their relations somehow lost itself in the subtler twist, and he fell back on mere stature, position and property, things always convenient in the presence of crookedness.

"I shall say nothing to your mother, but I think I shall be rather glad you're not a son of mine." Harold wondered at this new element in their talk.