or Babbo--about the little statue?"

She hardly dared breathe the last words, as she timidly dropped her eyes.

There were tears in her voice, and yet she was not very far from
hysterical laughter. The whole scene was so fantastic--ridiculous! The
room with its lumber; its confusion of glittering things; this old man
frowning at her--for no reason! For after all--what had she done? Even
the _contadini_--they were rough often--they couldn't read or write--but
they loved their grandchildren.

As he caught her reference to the bronze Hermes, Melrose's face changed.
He rose, stretching out a hand toward a bell on the table.

"You must go!" he said, sharply. "You ought never to have come. You'll
get nothing by it. Tell your mother so. This is the second attack she has
made on me--through her tools. If she attempts another, she may take the
consequences!"

Felicia too stood up. A rush of anger and despair choked her.

"And you won't--you won't even say a kind word to me!" she said, panting.
"You won't kiss me?"

For answer, he seized her by the hands, and drew her toward the light.
There, for a few intolerable seconds he looked closely, with a kind of
savage curiosity, into her face, studying her features, her hair, her
light form. Then pushing her from him, he opened that same drawer in the
French cabinet that Undershaw had once seen him open, fumbled a little,
and took out something that glittered.

"Take that. But if you come here again it will be the worse for you, and
for your mother. When I say a thing I mean it. Now, go! Dixon shall take
you to the train."

Felicia glanced at the Renaissance jewel in her hand--delicate Venus in
gold and pearl, set in a hoop of diamonds. "I won't have it!" she said,
dashing it from her with a sob of passion. "And we won't take your money
either--not a farthing! We've got friends who'll help us. And I'll keep
my mother myself. You shan't give her anything--nor my grandfather. So
you needn't threaten us! You can't do us any harm!"

She looked him scornfully over from head to foot, a little fury, with
blazing eyes.

Melrose laughed.

"I thought you came to get a _dot_ out of me," he said, with lifted
brows, admiring her in spite of himself. "You seem to have a good spice
of the Melrose temper in you. I'm sorry I can't treat you as you seem to
wish. Your mother settled that. Well--that'll do--that'll do! We can't
bandy words any more. Dixon!"

He touched the hand-bell beside