“I never heard anybody so cross as you always are to papa,” said Sophy.

“Your cousin Dorothy is very fortunate,” said Mrs. Carroll.  “She does not know what it is to want for anything.”

“She never spends anything—­on herself,” said her father.  “It is Dolly’s only fault that she won’t.”

“Because she has it all done for her,” said Amelia.

Dolly had gone back to her book, and disdained to make any farther reply.  Her father felt that quite enough had been said about it, and was prepared to give the twenty pounds, under the idea that he might be thought to have made a stout fight upon the subject.  “He does want them very badly—­for decency’s sake,” said the poor wife, thus winding up her plea.  Then Mr. Grey got out his check-book and wrote the check for twenty pounds.  But he made it payable, not to Mr. but to Mrs. Carroll.

“I suppose, papa, nothing can be done about Mr. Carroll.”  This was said by Dolly as soon as the family had withdrawn.

“In what way ‘done,’ my dear?”

“As to settling some farther sum for himself.”

“He’d only spend it, my dear.”

“That would be intended,” said Dolly.

“And then he would come back just the same.”

“But in that case he should have nothing more.  Though they were to declare that he hadn’t a pair of trousers in which to appear at a race-course, he shouldn’t have it.”

“My dear,” said Mr. Grey, “you cannot get rid of the gnats of the world.  They will buzz and sting and be a nuisance.  Poor Jane suffers worse from this gnat than you or I. Put up with it; and understand in your own mind that when he comes for another twenty pounds he must have it.  You needn’t tell him, but so it must be.”

“If I had my way,” said Dolly, after ten minutes’ silence, “I would punish him.  He is an evil thing, and should be made to reap the proper reward.  It is not that I wish to avoid my share of the world’s burdens, but that justice should be done.  I don’t know which I hate the worst,—­Uncle Carroll or Mr. Scarborough.”

The next day was Sunday, and Dolly was very anxious before breakfast to induce her father to say that he would go to church with her; but he was inclined to be obstinate, and fell back upon his usual excuse, saying that there were Scarborough papers which it would be necessary that he should read before he started for Tretton on the following day.

“Papa, I think it would do you good if you came.”

“Well, yes; I suppose it would.  That is the intention; but somehow it fails with me sometimes.”

“Do you think that you hate people when you go to church as much as when you don’t?”

“I am not sure that I hate anybody very much.”

“I do.”

“That seems an argument for your going.”

“But if you don’t hate them it is because you won’t take the trouble, and that again is not right.  If you would come to church you would be better for it all round.  You’d hate Uncle Carroll’s idleness and abominable self-indulgence worse than you do.”