inst a brooch my
honey-pot. I'm biling--yes, biling hard," and Deborah snorted in proof
of the extremity of her rage.

"Never mind, Debby. Father consents that I shall marry Paul, and will
give us enough to live on. Then Paul will write great books, and his
father will ask him home again. Oh--oh!" Sylvia danced round the room
gaily, "how happy I am."

"And happy you shall be if I die for it," shouted Deborah, screwing up
her face, for she was not altogether satisfied, "though mysteries I
don't hold with, are about. America--what's he going to America for? and
with that brooch, and him locking us up every night to sleep in cellars.
Police-courts and Old Baileys," said Miss Junk, frowning. "I don't like
it, Sunbeam, and when you're married to Mr. Beecot I'll be that happy as
never was."

Sylvia opened her grey eyes in wide surprise and a little alarm. "Oh,
Debby, you don't think there's anything wrong with father?"

Miss Junk privately thought there was a good deal wrong, but she folded
Sylvia in her stout arms and dismissed the question with a snort. "No,
lovey, my own, there ain't. It's just my silly way of going on. Orange
buds and brides the sun shines on, is your fortunes, Miss Sylvia, though
how I'm going to call you Mrs. Beecot beats me," and Deborah rubbed her
nose.

"I shall always be Sylvia to you."

"Bless you, lady-bird, but don't ask me to live with Mr. Beecot's
frantic par, else there'll be scratchings if he don't do proper what he
should do and don't. So there." Deborah swung her arms like a windmill.
"My mind's easy and dinner's waiting, for, love or no love, eat you
must, to keep your insides' clockwork."

When Bart heard the joyful news he was glad, but expressed regret that
Norman should go to America. He did not wish to lose his situation, and
never thought the old man would take him to the States also. Deborah
vowed that if Aaron did want to transport Bart--so she put it--she would
object. Then she unfolded a scheme by which, with Bart's savings and her
own, they could start a laundry. "And I knows a drying ground," said
Deborah, while talking at supper to her proposed husband, "as is lovely
and cheap. One of them suburbs on the line to Essex, where my pretty
will live when her husband's frantic par makes it up. Jubileetown's the
place, and Victoria Avenue the street. The sweetest cottage at twenty
pun' a year as I ever set eyes on. And m'sister as is married to a
bricklayer is near to help w