vagantly of his family
and ancestors the next.

"He was rather fond of me--for a little," she thought to herself wearily,
as she stood at the hall window, looking out into the rain. At the point
which things had now reached she knew very well that she meant nothing at
all to him. He would not beat her, or starve her, or even, perhaps,
desert her. Such behaviour would disturb his existence as much as hers;
and he did not mean to be disturbed. She might go her own way--she and
the child; he would give her food and lodging and clothes, of a sort, so
long as she did not interfere with his tastes, or spend his money.

Then, suddenly, while she stood wrathfully pondering, a gust of anger
rose--childish anger, such as she had shown the night before, when she
had tried to get out of the carriage. She turned, ran down the corridor
to the door which she understood was the door of his study--and entered
with a burst.

"Edmund!--I want to speak to you!"

Melrose, who was hanging, frowning and absorbed, over a carpenter who was
freeing what seemed to be an old clock from the elaborate swathings of
paper and straw in which it had been packed, looked up with annoyance.

"Can't you see, Netta, that I'm very busy?"

"I can't help it!--it's about baby."

With a muttered "D--n!" Melrose came toward her.

"What on earth do you want?"

Netta looked at him defiantly.

"I want to be told whenever the cart goes into Pengarth--there were lots
of things to get for baby. And I must have something here that I can
drive myself. We can't be cut off from everything."

"Give your orders to Mrs. Dixon then about the cart," said Melrose
angrily. "What has it to do with me? As for a carriage, I have no money
to spend on any nonsense of the kind. We can do perfectly well without
it."

"I only want a little pony-cart--you could get it second-hand for ten or
twelve pounds--and the farmer has got a pony."

She looked at him--sallow, and frowning.

Melrose pushed her into the passage and drew the door to, behind him, so
that the carpenter might not hear.

"Ten or twelve pounds! Do you expect I get money off the hedges? Can't
you be content here like a reasonable woman, without getting me into
debt?"

Netta laughed and tossed her head.

"You shouldn't leave your business letters about!"

"What do you mean?"

"There was a cheque among your papers one day last week!--I saw it before
you could hide it away. It was for L3,000--a dividend f