“Aunt, I will not allow this.” A light flush came into the girl’s cheek.
“It is all very well talking,” said Aunt Dionysia; “but black is not white, and no power on earth can make me say that it is so. Money must be found. Money must be paid for expenses, and it is hard that I should have to find it; so I think. What money is there in the house for present necessities? I must know.”
Suddenly a loud voice was heard shouting through the house—
“Mother Dunes! old Dunes! I want you.”
Judith turned cold and white. Who was this that dared to bellow in the house of death, when her dear, dear father lay up-stairs with the blinds down, asleep? It was an insult, an outrage. Her nerves had already been thrilled, and her heart roused into angry revolt by the cold, unfeeling conduct of the woman who was her sole relative in the world. And now, as she was thus quivering, there came this boisterous shout.
“It is the master!” said Mrs. Trevisa, in an awestruck voice, lowered as much as was possible to her.
To Coppinger alone she was submissive, cringing, obsequious.
“What does he mean by this—this conduct?” asked Judith, trembling with wrath.
“He wants me.”
Again a shout. “Dunes! old fool! the keys!”