“Well, just look at you, Liz.  I fancy that the sight of you would do them no credit.  You’re well enough off with Phillips.  I think this is a very handsome offer.  Though we’re both sick of Adelaide, we can stop here a bit longer—­at least, till we can see our way clear to get out of it.”

“Do you think I don’t care for my liberty? and I hate the Adelaide side.  It was all your doings coming across here at all, and a precious mull you’ve made of it.  I fancy they must be thinking of coming back to Melbourne, from this notice to me to keep out of the way.  And do you think I don’t want to see my own daughter?  Did not I put her in the way of all her good fortune?  Did not I dress her the day she first saw Phillips, and did not she look like a angel?”

“And he was spoon enough to marry her, which was more than either you or me expected.  As for the girl, she was glad enough to go away from you; you never cared so much for her.”

“Did I not, when I saw she was growing up so handsome and a credit to me?”

“Yes, yes; we both wanted to make our own of her, and I think we did not do amiss, considering,” said Peck.  “We’ve had bad luck in Adelaide, but things may change—­money goes farther here.”

“Money never goes far with us,” said Mrs. Peck, “and Melbourne is the place where we can get on best.  If I had Frank’s money, which I must and shall get out of him somehow, we could manage to rub along here, but without it we never could.  The black-hearted scoundrel, not to send me a farthing--me who could-----”

“You had better threaten him with what you can do in your next letter.  I always thought that style of working the oracle would pay best; but perhaps the motherly affectionate dodge was the best to try first.  Threaten him in your next.”

“I don’t think I’ll condescend to threaten him; I don’t care to save him from what he deserves for his shameful ingratitude to me.  I could make better terms with Cross Hall’s nieces than I could do with Frank.  Surely they would give me more for my secret than he would do to keep me quiet.  They were left beggars, I know, and the estate is worth a great deal to them.”

“Hang it, Mrs. Peck, that is a glorious idea, but don’t be too hurried in your movements.  You don’t care about your own share in the business being known?” said Peck.

“I care for nothing if I could only get my revenge on him, and if I could only get as much out of the Melville girls as would allow me to snap my fingers at Phillips.  I would rather relish publishing my connection with him.  I would like to bring down Betsy a peg.”

“There’s where you always make a mull of it, Liz.  Your infernal temper always gets the better of you.  Revenge and spite are very good things in their way, but I don’t see that they pay.  I think you would be very mad to give up so much a year for the pleasure of vexing Phillips and Betsy; and as for the Melville girls, how are you to get at them?  There is not shot in the locker to take you to England, and letters are very risky things to write.  You’re sure to let out more than is safe, and if you let out too little the girls will see no advantage in it.”