“Harry,” said she, “you spoke very warmly of that cunning serpent who defrauded you of your inheritance, and all of us out of our right.  May I ask for what purpose you wish to cultivate an intimacy with such a scheming and dishonest crew as that?”

“Faith, mother, to tell you the truth, you don’t detest them, nor feel the loss of the property more than I do; but the truth is, that the game I wish to play with them will be a winning one, if I can induce them to hold the cards.  I wish to get the property, and as I feel that that can’t be done without marrying their milk-and-curd of a daughter, why, it is my intention to marry her accordingly.”

“Then you don’t marry a wife to be happy with her?”

“In one sense not I—­in another I do; I shall make myself happy with her property.”

“Indeed, Harry, to tell you the truth, there is very little happiness in married life, and they are only fools that expect it.  You see how I am treated by Lindsay and my own children.”

“Well, but you provoke them—­why disturb yourself with them?  Why not pass through life as quietly as you can?  Imitate Lindsay.”

“What! make a sot of myself—­become a fool, as he is?”

“Then, why did you marry him?”

“Because I was the fool then, but I have suffered for it.  Why, he manages this property as if it wasn’t mine—­as if I didn’t bring it to him.  Think of a man who is silly enough to forgive a tenant his gale of rent, provided he makes a poor mouth, and says he is not able to pay it.”

“But I see no harm in that either; if the man is not able to pay, how can he?  What does Lindsay do but make a virtue of necessity.  He cannot skin a flint, can he?”

“That’s an ugly comparison,” she replied, “and I can’t conceive why you make it to me.  I am afraid, Harry, you have suffered yourself to be prejudiced against the only friend—­the only true friend, you have in the house.  I can tell you, that although they keep fair faces to you, you are not liked here.”

“Very well; if I find that to be true, they will lose more than they’ll gain by it.”

“They have been striving to secure your influence against me.  I know it by your language.”

“In the devil’s name, how can you know it by my language, mother?”

“You talked about skinning a flint; now, you had that from them with reference to me.  It was only the other day that an ill-tongued house-maid of mine, after I had paid her her wages, and ‘stopped’ for the articles she injured on me, turned round, and called me a skinflint; they have made it a common nickname on me.  I’d have torn her eyes out only for Lindsay, who had the assurance to tell me that if he had not interfered I’d have had the worst of it—­that I’d come off second best, and such slang; yes, and then added afterwards, that he was sorry he interfered.  That’s the kind of a husband he is, and that’s the life I lead.  Now, this property is mine, and I can leave it to any one I please; he hasn’t even a life interest in it.”