was to be obtained by sacrificing his son.
Papa will stand by him in this, I know, as
his honour is concerned."

"Is this with your sanction, sir?" said
Mrs. Leader, turning furiously on him.
'Have you arranged this between you
during your absence? Is it your plot?
Have you both settled all this in defiance
of me?"

Timorous Mr. Leader, beside himself with
terror, tried to soothe her. "I never meant
it—it will be only for a few days, and——"

"It will not be for an hour," she said.
"There, that's an end of it! You and your
daughter shall make no arrangements about
my house, without consulting me. And
you, Mary Leader, go to your room, and
don't dare to interfere with me in future.
I've been only too good a mother to you.
Another thing, I have invited company
down to Leadersfort all for your sake. You
shall come down there with me at once,
and we shall see if these people then dare
to present themselves!"

She left father and daughter—the former
quite overwhelmed. "You see, my
dear, you brought on all this. It is most
foolish of you. I told you there would be
something unpleasant. We ought to have
consulted her first."

"And what shall we say to Cecil and
Katey, if we allow them to be treated in
this way?" she asked vehemently. "Surely,
papa, you feel for them? You will not let
yourself be changed from what you know
to be right?"

"Well, now, don't worry me any more
about it," said he, testily. "This is the
way I am always harassed among you all."

His daughter sighed. No more could
be done for the moment. But this wise,
quiet girl only required time and thought,
and would not be found wanting.

Mrs. Leader, indignant, but triumphant,
during the rest of the day, proceeded with
her preparations. She sent for Mr. Leader
again, much as the chief of the police would
invite a suspicious character to wait upon
him. He came all nervous and alarmed.
She was in "her tantrums," as her fits of
ill-humour were designated in the servants'
hall.

"Is it you that have set your daughter on,
to beard me in this way?" she asked of her
trembling husband. "Who has put you up
to this? How could you dare to insult me
by sending back the people whom I sent
down to you?"

"My dear, I never meant such a thing.
But I thought that really it was a matter
that—as I was head of the house, and my
own son——"

"You head of the house," she repeated
with infinite contempt, which made Mr.
Leader feel most uncomfortable. "You
should give over such nonsense. Where
would you be but for me? What position
would you hold? Would not all society be
laughing at your gauche, humdrum ways,
but for me? Now let us hear no more of
it. Mr. Amos will be here to-morrow with
the papers, and I shall see myself that you
do it."

She had never spoken to him in this
decided, but very offensive fashion, and she
had gone beyond judicious limits.

"I cannot do that—at least not as yet."

"Why not, sir? What do you mean?"

"I must have time to consider, and think
it over. It is a dreadful act of cruelty and
oppression, and I would be responsible. No
power on earth shall get me," he added,
with a sort of desperation, "to do what is
wrong, or what I should repent of all my
life—at least," he added, hurriedly, "until
I have had time to think it well over."

Mrs. Leader did not smile at this rather
comic compromise with morality; but she
could see that the foolish man had been
stirred up to resistance, and that he would
resist. A little compromise might do no
harm, a little delay would make no
difference. It did not much matter, after all.
Allies were about to join their forces to
hers: Lady Seaman was coming down to
stay "for a short time," as it was complacently
described; though the lady's "short
times" were more like the protracted
quartering of a garrison. Mrs. Leader did not
press the matter for the moment. But
she determined that they should go down
at once to Leadersfort, there to receive Lady
Seaman; that the lawyers should come
down after a few days, and that then the
unhappy "head of the house" should be
intimidated into doing what he was bound
to do. But with this resolve she had
conceived an almost deadly dislike of her
step-daughter, whose suggestion she now knew
had prompted this resistance.

One thing, indeed, restored her
good-humour: she revelled in anticipation of
the mortifying repulse in store for that
low, scheming Doctor and his intriguing
daughter. She enjoyed the picture of their
discomfiture, as they would drive up. "The
house unfortunately would be full," and the
degenerate pair, with their crafty and pushing
leader, must go back and board and
lodge at his own mean abode. The