"But you'll get quite accustomed to it after a little; and he is really very funny, I can a.s.sure you; he puts me into fits of laughter.

You will get accustomed to him, darling; you will come and live with your new father and me at Laburnum Villa?"

"Mother, you must know that I never will."

"But what are you to do, Maggie? You've got no money at all."

"Oh mother!" said poor Maggie, "it costs very little to keep me at Aylmer House; you know that quite, quite well. Please do let me go on with my education. Afterwards I can earn my living as a teacher or in some profession, for I have plenty of talent. I take after father in that."

"Oh yes, I know I always was a fool," said Mrs. Howland; "but I have a way with people for all that."

"Mother, you have a great deal that is quite sweet about you, and you're throwing yourself away on that awful man! Can't we go on as we did for a year or two, you living here, and I coming to you in the holidays? Then, as soon as ever I get a good post I shall be able to help you splendidly. Can't you do it, mother? This whole thing seems so dreadful to me."

"No, I can't, and won't," said Mrs. Howland in a decided voice. "I am exceedingly fond of my Bo-peep--as I call him--and greatly enjoy the prospect of being his wife. Oh Maggie, you have not returned to be a thorn in our sides? You will submit?"

"Never, never, never!" said Maggie.

"Then I don't know what you are to do; for your new father insists on my keeping the very little money I have for my own personal use, and if you refuse to conform to his wishes he will not allow me to spend a farthing of it on you. You can't live on nothing at all."

"I can't," said Maggie. "I don't know quite what to do. Are you going to be so very cruel as to take away the little money you have hitherto spent on me?"

"I must, dear; in fact, it is done already. Mr. Martin has invested it in the grocery business. He already provides for all my wants, and we are to be married in a fortnight. I have nothing whatever to spend on you."

"Well, mother, we'll say no more to-night. I have a headache, but I'll sleep on the sofa here; it's less hot than the bedroom."

"Won't you sleep with your poor old mother?"

"No, I can't, really. Oh, how dreadfully hot this place is!"

"You are spoilt by your fine life, Maggie; but I grant that these lodgings are hot. The house at Clapham, however, is very cool and fresh. Oh Maggie! My dear Bo-peep is getting such a sweet little bedroom ready for you. I could cry when I think of your cross obstinacy."

But even the thought of the sweet little bedroom didn't move Maggie Howland. Tildy presently brought up a meagre supper, of which the mother and daughter partook almost in silence. Then Mrs. Howland went to her room, where she fell fast asleep, and Maggie had the drawing-room to herself. She had arranged a sort of extempore bed on the hard sofa, and was about to lie down, when Tildy opened the door.

"I say," said Tildy, "ain't he cunnin'?"

"What do you mean, Matilda?" said Maggie.

"Oh my," said Tildy, "wot a 'arsh word! Does you know, missie, that he's arsked me to go down to Clap'am presently to 'elp wait on your ma? If you're there, miss, it'll be the 'eight of 'appiness to me."

"I may as well say at once, Matilda, that I shall not be there."

"You don't like 'im, then?" said Tildy, backing a step. "And 'e is so enticin'--the prettiest ways 'e 'ave--at least, that's wot me and Mrs.

Ross thinks. We always listen on the stairs for 'im to greet your ma.

We like 'im, that we do."

"I have an old dress in my trunk, Tildy, which I will give you. You can manage to make it look quite nice for your new post as parlor-maid at Laburnum Villa. But now go, please; for I must be alone to think."

Tildy went. She crept downstairs to the kitchen regions. There she met Mrs. Ross.

"The blessed young lady's full of ructions," said Tildy.

"And no wonder," replied Mrs. Ross. "She's a step above Martin, and Martin knows it."

"I 'ope as she won't refuse to jine us at Laburnum Villa," said Tildy.

"There's no sayin' wot a spirited gel like that'll do," said Mrs.

Ross; "but ef she do go down, Martin 'll be a match for 'er."

"I don't know about that," replied Tildy. "She 'ave a strong, determined w'y about 'er, has our Miss Maggie."

If Mrs. Howland slept profoundly, poor Maggie could not close her eyes. She suddenly found herself surrounded by calamity. The comparatively small trials which she had thought big enough in connection with Aylmer House and Cicely and Merry Cardew completely disappeared before this great trouble which now faced her. Her mother's income amounted to a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and out of that meagre sum the pair had contrived to live, and, owing to Mrs.

Ward's generosity, Maggie had been educated. But now that dreadful Mr.

Martin had secured Mrs. Howland's little property, and the only condition on which it could be spent on Maggie was that she should accept a home with her future stepfather. This nothing whatever would induce her to do. But what was to be done?

She had no compunction whatever in leaving her mother. They had never been really friends, for the girl took after her father, whom her mother had never even pretended to understand. Mrs. Howland, when she became Mrs. Martin, would be absolutely happy without Maggie, and Maggie knew well that she would be equally miserable with her. On the other hand, how was Maggie to live?

Suddenly it flashed across her mind that there was a way out, or at least a way of providing sufficient funds for the coming term at Aylmer House. Her mother had, after all, some sort of affection for her, and if Maggie made her request she was certain it would not be refused. She meant to get her mother to give her all that famous collection of jewels which her father had collected in different parts of the world. In especial, the bracelets flashed before her memory.

These could be sold, and would produce a sum which might keep Maggie at Aylmer House, perhaps for a year--certainly for the approaching term.

CHAPTER XIII.

BREAKFAST WITH BO-PEEP.

After Maggie's restless night she got up early. The day promised to be even hotter than the one before; but as the drawing-room faced west it was comparatively cool at this hour.

Tildy brought her favorite young lady a cup of tea, and suggested that she should go for an outing while Tildy herself freshened up the room.

Maggie thought that a good idea, and when she found herself in the street her spirits rose a trifle.

A curious sort of fascination drew her in the direction of Martin's shop. It was a very large corner shop, had several entrances, and at this early hour the young shopmen and shopwomen were busy dressing the windows; they were putting appetizing sweetmeats and cakes and biscuits and all kinds of delectable things in the different windows to tempt the pa.s.sers-by.

Maggie felt a hot sense of burning shame rising to her cheeks as she pa.s.sed the shop. She was about to turn back, when whom should she see standing in the doorway but the prosperous owner himself! He recognized her immediately, and called out to her in his full, pompous voice, "Come along here, Wopsy!"

The young shop-people turned to gaze in some wonder as the refined-looking girl approached the fat, loud-mannered man.

"I'm in a hurry back to breakfast with my mother," said Maggie in her coldest voice.

"Well, then, I will come along with you, my dear; I am just in the mood. Little-sing, she will give me breakfast this morning. I'll be back again in the shop soon after nine. It's a fine shop, ain't it, Popsy?"

"It does seem large," said Maggie.

"It's the sort of shop," responded Martin, "that takes a deal of getting. It's not done in a day, nor a month, nor a year. It takes a lifetime to build up premises like these. It means riches, my dear--riches." He rolled out the words luxuriously.

"I am sure it does," said Maggie, who felt that for her own sake she must humor him.

"You think so, do you?" said Martin, giving her a keen glance.