“What is Lord Rufford to you?” asked Mrs. Masters.

“He has always been very friendly.”

“I don’t see it at all.  You have never had any of his money.  I don’t know that you are a pound richer by him.”

“I have always gone with the gentry of the county.”

“Fiddlesticks!  Gentry!  Gentry are very well as long as you can make a living out of them.  You could afford to stick up for gentry till you lost the Bragton property.”  This was a subject that was always sore between Mr. Masters and his wife.  The former Mrs. Masters had been a lady—­the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman; and had been much considered by the family at Bragton.  The present Mrs. Masters was the daughter of an ironmonger at Norrington, who had brought a thousand pounds with her, which had been very useful.  No doubt Mr. Masters’ practice had been considerably affected by the lowliness of his second marriage.  People who used to know the first Mrs. Masters, such as Mrs. Mainwaring, and the doctor’s wife, and old Mrs. Cooper, the wife of the vicar of Mallingham, would not call on the second Mrs. Masters.  As Mrs. Masters was too high-spirited to run after people who did not want her, she took to hating gentry instead.

“We have always been on the other side,” said the old attorney, “I and my father and grandfather before me.”

“They lived on it and you can’t.  If you are going to say that you won’t have any client that isn’t a gentleman, you might as well put up your shutters at once.”

“I haven’t said so.  Isn’t Runciman my client?” “He always goes with the gentry.  He a’most thinks he’s one of them himself.”

“And old Nobbs, the greengrocer.  But it’s all nonsense.  Any man is my client, or any woman, Who can come and pay me for business that is fit for me to do.”

“Why isn’t this fit to be done?  If the man’s been damaged, why shouldn’t he be paid?”

“He’s had money offered him.”

“If he thinks it ain’t enough, who’s to say that it is,—­unless a jury?” said Mrs. Masters, becoming quite eloquent.  “And how’s a poor man to get a jury to say that, unless he comes to a lawyer?  Of course, if you won’t have it, he’ll go to Bearside.  Bearside won’t turn him away.”  Bearside was another attorney, an interloper of about ten years’ standing, whose name was odious to Mr. Masters.

“You don’t know anything about it, my dear,” said he, aroused at last to anger.

“I know you’re letting anybody who likes take the bread out of the children’s mouths.”  The children, so called, were sitting round the table and could not but take an interest in the matter.  The eldest was that Mary Masters, the daughter of the former wife, whom Lady Ushant had befriended, a tall girl, with dark brown hair, so dark as almost to be black, and large, soft, thoughtful grey eyes.  We shall have much to say of Mary Masters, and can hardly stop to give an adequate description of her