“Ye don’t go.—­Pole, they’re all here.  And I’ve been robbed, I have.  Avery note I had from ye, Pole, all gone.  And my purse left behind, like the skin of a thing.  Lord forbid I accuse annybody; but when I get up, my first rush is to feel in my pocket.  And, ask ’em!—­If ye didn’t keep me so poor, Pole, they’d know I’m a generous woman, but I cann’t bear to be robbed.  And pinmoney ‘s for spendin;’ annybody’ll tell you that.  And I ask ye t’ examine ’em, Pole; for last night I counted my notes, wantin’ change, and I thought of a salmon I bought on the banks of the Suir to make a present to Chump, which was our onnly visit to Waterford together:  for he naver went t’ Ireland before or after—­dyin’ as he did! and it’s not his ingrat’tude, with his talk of a Severrn salmon-to the deuce with ’m! that makes me soft-poor fella!—­I didn’t mean to the deuce;—­but since he’s gone, his widde’s just unfit to bargain for a salmon at all, and averybody robs her, and she’s kept poor, and hatud!—­D’ye heer, Pole?  I’ve lost my money, my money! and I will speak, and ye shann’t interrupt me!”

During the delivery of this charge against the household, Mr. Pole had several times waved to the servants to begone; but as they had always the option to misunderstand authoritative gestures, they preferred remaining, and possibly he perceived that they might claim to do so under accusation.

“How can you bring this charge against the inmates of my house—­eh?  I guarantee the honesty of all who serve me.  Martha! you must be mad, mad!—­Money? why, you never have money; you waste it if you do.”

“Not money, Pole?  Oh! and why?  Becas ye keep me low o’ purpose, till I cringe like a slut o’ the scullery, and cry out for halfpence.  But, oh! that seventy-five pounds in notes!”

Mr. Pole shook his head, as one who deals with a gross delusion:  “I remember nothing about it.”

“Not about—?” Mrs. Chump dropped her chin.  “Ye don’t remember the givin’ of me just that sum of seventy-five, in eight notes, Pole?”

“Eh?  I daresay I have given you the amount, one time or other.  Now, let’s be quiet about it.”

“Yesterday mornin’, Pole!  And the night I go to bed I count my money, and, says I, I’ll not lock ut up, for I’ll onnly be unlockin’ again to-morrow; and doin’ a thing and undoin’ ut’s a sign of a brain that’s addled—­like yours, Pole, if ye say ye didn’t go to give me the notes.”

Mr. Pole frowned at her sagaciously.  “Must change your diet, Martha!”

“My dite?  And what’s my dite to do with my money?”

“Who went into Mrs. Chump’s bedchamber this morning?” asked Mr. Pole generally.

A pretty little housemaid replied, with an indignant flush, that she was the person.  Mrs. Chump acknowledged to being awake when the shutters were opened, and agreed that it was not possible her pockets could have been rifled then.

“So, you see, Martha, you’re talking nonsense,” said Mr. Pole.  “Do you know the numbers of those notes?”