rice 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.

'Not just yet.'

Ada rolled herself from the sofa, and stood yawning.

'Well, I shall go and dress. What are you people going to do? You
needn't expect any dinner. I shall have mine at a restaurant.'

'Who have you to meet?' asked Fanny, with a grimace.

Her sister disregarded the question, yawned again, and turned to
Beatrice.

'Who shall we ask to take Fan's place on Tuesday? Whoever it 15, they'll
have to pay. Those seats are selling for three guineas, somebody told
me.'

Conversation lingered about this point for a few minutes, till Mrs.
Peachey went upstairs. When the door was open, a child's crying could
be heard, but it excited no remark. Presently the other two retired, to
make themselves ready for going out. Fanny was the first to reappear,
and, whilst waiting for her sister, she tapped out a new music-hall
melody on the piano.

As they left the house, Beatrice remarked that Ada really meant to
have her dinner at Gatti's or some such place; perhaps they had better
indulge themselves in the same way.

'Suppose you give Horace Lord a hint that we've no dinner at home? He
might take us, and stand treat.'

Fanny shook her head.

'I don't think he could get away. The guv'nor expects him home to dinner
on Sundays.'

The other laughed her contempt.

'You see! What good is he? Look here, Fan, you just wait a bit, and
you'll do much better than that. Old Lord would cut up rough as soon as
ever such a thing was mentioned; I know he would. There's something I
have had in my mind for a long time. Suppose I could show you a way
of making a heap of money--no end of money--? Shouldn't you like it
better,--to live as you pleased, and be independent?'

The listener's face confessed curiosity, yet was dubious.

'What do you say to going into business with me?' pursued Miss French.
'We've only to raise a little money on the houses, and in a year or two
we might be making thousands.'

'Business? What sort of business?'

'Suppose somebody came to you and said