To this Mrs. Lawson made a response as composed as she could; she would have retorted bitterly and violently, but her husband had a connection with the Thompson establishment, and for strong reasons she considered it prudent to refrain from quarreling with Mrs. Thompson.  She therefore spoke but very little, and Mrs. Thompson was left at full liberty to give a lengthened detail of Mr. Thompson’s great wealth and her own great profusion.  She began first with herself, and furnished an exact detail of all the fine things she had purchased in the last month, down to the latest box of pins.  Next, her babies occupied her for half an hour—­the quantity of chicken they consumed, and the number of frocks they soiled per diem were minutely chronicled.  Then her house came under consideration:  she depicted the bright glory of the new ponceau furniture, as contrasted with shocking old faded things—­and she glanced significantly toward Mrs. Lawson’s sofas and chairs.  Next she made a discursive detour to the culinary department, and gave a statement of the number of stones of lump sugar she was getting boiled in preserves, and of the days of the week in which they had puddings, and the days they had pies at dinner.

“But, Mrs. Lawson dear, have you seen old Mr. Lawson since he came home?” she said, when she was rising to depart:  “but I suppose you haven’t, for they say he won’t have anything to do with his relations now—­he won’t come near you I have heard.  They say he has brought such a lot of money with him from South America.”

At this intelligence every feature of Mrs. Lawson’s face brightened with powerful interest.  She inquired where Mr. Lawson stopped, and was informed that he had arrived at the best hotel in town about three days previously, and that every one talked of the large fortune he had made abroad, as he seemed to make no secret of the fact.

A burning eagerness to obtain possession of that money entered Mrs. Lawson’s soul, and she thought every second of time drawn out to the painful duration of a long hour, while Mrs. Thompson slowly moved her ample skirts of satin across the drawing-room, and took her departure.  Mrs. Lawson dispatched a messenger immediately for her husband.

Henry Lawson came in, and listened with surprise to the intelligence of his father’s return.  He was taking up his hat to proceed to the hotel in quest of him, when a carriage drove to the door.  Mrs. Lawson’s heart palpitated with eagerness—­if it should be her husband’s father in his own carriage—­how delightful!—­that horrible Mrs. Thompson had not a carriage of her own yet, though she was always talking of it.  They, Mrs. Lawson and her husband, had just been about setting up a carriage when business failed with them.  She ran briskly down the stairs—­for long years she had not flown with such alertness—­rapid visions of gold, of splendor, and triumph seemed to bear her along, as if she had not been a being of earth.