"I can't do that either. I must earn my bread."
"What," screeched Mrs. Merry, "and you a born lady! Never; that saint would turn in her grave--and I wonder she don't, seeing she's laid 'longside him as tortured her when alive. There's your titles, of course, Lord Ipsen and his son."
"I wouldn't take a penny from them," said Eva colouring. "They never took any notice of me when my father was alive, and----"
"He didn't get on well with 'em," cried Mrs. Merry; "and who did he get on with, I ask you, deary? There's Lady Ipsen--she would have made much of you, but for him."
"I don't like Lady Ipsen, Nanny. She called here, if you remember, when my mother was alive. I'm not going to be patronised by her."
"Ah, Miss Eva," said the old dame admiringly, "it's a fine, bright, hardy spirit of your own as you've got. Lady Ipsen is as old as I am, and makes herself up young with paint and them things. But she has a heart. When she learned of your poverty----"
Eva sprang to her feet. "No! no! no!" she cried vehemently, "never mention her to me again. I would not go to my mother's family for bread if I was starving. What I eat, I'll earn."
"Tell Mr. Allen so," said Mrs. Merry, peering out of the window; "here he comes. His foot 'ull get worse, if he walk so fast," she added, with her usual pessimism.
Allen did not wait to enter in by the door, but paused at the open window before which Eva was standing. He looked ill and white and worried, but his foot was better, though even now, he had to use a stick, and walked slowly. "You should not have come out to-day," said Eva, shaking her finger at him.
"As Mrs. Mountain would not go to Mr. Mahomet," said Allen, trying to smile, "Mr. Mahomet had to come to Mrs. Mountain. Wait till I come in, Eva," and he disappeared.