Mrs. Coppersley rose, also in a violent rage and quite glad to vent her petty spite on one who could not retaliate. "Oh, I'm a liar, am I?" she said shrilly. "You call me a liar when I am only keeping you out of charity——"

"Stop!" Bella flung up her hand and spoke firmly. "You are not doing that, Aunt Rosamund. In one way or another you have persuaded my father into leaving you what is rightfully mine. But I shall see Mr. Timson, and read the will; you shall not have it your own way altogether."

Mrs. Coppersley snapped her large finger and thumb. "Go and see the will, by all means," she scoffed in a coarse voice; "you won't find any flaw in it, as I was careful that it should be properly drawn up. I have a perfect right to the farm, as my money helped to buy it."

"So be it. Keep the farm, but give me the income. That, at least, you have no right to retain."

"I have the right of possession, which is nine points of the law, miss," said Mrs. Coppersley violently, "and the will is plain enough. Jabez did right to leave the money to me, and not to a chit of a girl like you, who would waste your father's hard-earned money on that wastrel from London."

"Of whom are you talking?"

"Don't pretend ignorance, miss, for I won't have it. I mean Mr. Lister, as he calls himself, though I daresay he is no better than he should be."

"You have no right to say that."

"I'll say what I like and do what I like. Remember I am mistress; and as you depend entirely on me, miss, I order you to give up all idea of this Lister scamp and marry Silas Pence, who is——"

"I shall certainly not marry Silas Pence, or anyone but Cyril," said Bella in icy tones. "You have no right to interfere in——"

Mrs. Coppersley stamped and interrupted in her turn. "No right! no right!" she bellowed furiously. "I have every right. This house is mine, and the food you eat is mine. If I turned you out you would have to starve, for I am certain that your fine lover would have nothing to do with you. He's a bad man; your father said so."

"My father knew nothing of Mr. Lister."

"He knew that he was bad; he said as much. Why"—Mrs. Coppersley pointed a fat finger towards the round table in the centre of the room—"there's a photograph of him, and in a 

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