The twenty pounds burned with avidity. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated.
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