“I shall never more think well of you ,” cried Bella, cutting him short, with intense defiance in her expressive little eyebrows, and championship of the late Secretary in every dimple. “No! Never again! Your money has changed you to marble. You are a hardhearted miser. You are worse than Dancer, worse than Hopkins, worse than Blackberry Jones, worse than any of the wretches. And more!” proceeded Bella, breaking into tears again, “you were wholly undeserving of the gentleman you have lost.”

“Why, you don’t mean to say, Miss Bella,” the Golden Dustman slowly remonstrated, “that you set up Rokesmith against me?”

“I do!” said Bella. “He is worth a million of you.”

Very pretty she looked, though very angry, as she made herself as tall as she possibly could (which was not extremely tall), and utterly renounced her patron with a lofty toss of her rich brown head.