silver frame, too. What extravagance. How dare you spend my money on silver frames?"

She dashed forward to seize the photograph of Cyril, which Bella had brought down from her bedroom and had left unthinkingly on the table. Doubtless Mrs. Coppersley would have destroyed the portrait, but that Bella secured it before the good lady could reach the table. "Mr. Lister gave me this," said Bella, putting it behind her back; "frame and all; it is mine."

"And you dare to bring into the house the picture of a wicked profligate whom your father hated," roared Mrs. Coppersley, her red face shining with perspiration and her little eyes flashing with wrath.

"My father being so good himself," said Bella ironically, and feeling quite cool. "Mr. Lister is not a profligate, Aunt Rosamund, and you are a bad woman!"

Mrs. Coppersley gasped like a dying dolphin. "Me a bad woman!" she cried, puffing out her cheeks ludicrously; "me, when Henry says that I am the best woman in the world. And I'd have you know, Bella, that I'm a lady and no woman, miss—so there."

The girl, in spite of her grief and dismay, laughed right out. "Even a lady must be a woman," she observed sarcastically.

"Leave my house! leave my house," panted Mrs. Coppersley.

"No. I shall remain here until I know if the will is correct. I shall stay here, as I say, and shall receive polite treatment. If I do not, I shall dispute the will, and make things unpleasant."

Mrs. Coppersley snapped her fingers. "That for all the harm you can do," she said coarsely. "The will stands good in law. I have made sure of that by consulting Mr. Timson, who drew it up. You can stay here for a week; at the end of that time you pack up and go."

"Where to, Aunt Rosamund?"

"That's your look out, miss. But you don't stay here to spoil my honeymoon with my darling Henry."

Bella shrugged her shoulders. It really was not worth while losing her temper with a person whose methods were so crude. The more enraged Mrs. Coppersley became, the cooler Bella felt. "Do you know what you are, Aunt Rosamund?" she remarked coolly. "You are a bully, and a petty tyrant. While my father was alive you cringed to him because you were afraid. Now that you think you have the whip hand of me, you vent your spite on one whom you think cannot retaliate. If I had the 

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