it serves them right." Even this observation, however, failed
to rouse in her husband a response, and, as she had quite formed the
habit of doing, she philosophically answered herself. "But I don't
suppose they do it on spec."

It was less apparent than ever what Edward supposed. "Oh Van hasn't
money to chuck about."

"Ah I only mean a sovereign here and there."

"Well," Brookenham threw out after another turn, "I think Van, you know,
is your affair."

"It ALL seems to be my affair!" she lamented too woefully to have other
than a comic effect. "And of course then it will be still more so if he
should begin to apply to Mr. Longdon."

"We must stop that in time."

"Do you mean by warning Mr. Longdon and requesting him immediately to
tell us? That won't be very pleasant," Mrs. Brookenham noted.

"Well then wait and see."

She waited only a minute--it might have appeared she already saw. "I
want him to be kind to Harold and can't help thinking he will."

"Yes, but I fancy that that will be his notion of it--keeping him from
making debts. I dare say one needn't trouble about him," Brookenham
added. "He can take care of himself."

"He appears to have done so pretty well all these years," she mused. "As
I saw him in my childhood I see him now, and I see now that I saw
then even how awfully in love he was with mamma. He's too lovely about
mamma," Mrs. Brookenham pursued.

"Oh!" her husband replied.

The vivid past held her a moment. "I see now I must have known a lot as
a child."

"Oh!" her companion repeated.

"I want him to take an interest in us. Above all in the children. He
ought to like us"--she followed it up. "It will be a sort of 'poetic
justice.' He sees the reasons for himself and we mustn't prevent it."
She turned the possibilities over, but they produced a reserve. "The
thing is I don't see how he CAN like Harold."

"Then he won't lend him money," said Brookenham with all his grimness.

This contingency too she considered. "You make me feel as if I wished he
would--which is too dreadful. And I don't think he really likes ME!" she
went on.

"Oh!" her husband again ejaculated. "I mean not utterly REALLY. He has
to try to. But it won't make any difference," she next remarked. "Do you
mean his trying?"

"No, I mean his not succeeding. He'll be just the same." She saw it
steadily and saw it whole. "On account of mamma."

Brookenham also, with his perfect propriety, put it before himself. "And