"Do you suppose I gave up my position at school in order to live in a
poky little hole at eighteen pounds a year? What do you think I can do
with myself all day in Trafalgar-road? Why, nothing. There's no room
even for a piano, and so my fingers are stiffening every day. It's not
life at all. Naturally, it's a great privilege," she pursued, with a
vicious inflection that reminded him perfectly of Susan, "for a girl
like me to live with an old man like you, all alone, with one servant
and no sitting-room. But some privileges cost too dear. The fact is, you
never think of me at all." (And he had but just given her six-and-twenty
pounds.) "You think you've got a cheap housekeeper in me--but you
haven't. I'm a very good housekeeper--especially in a very large
house--but I'm not cheap."

She spoke as if she had all her life been accustomed to living in vast
mansions. But James knew that, despite her fine friends, she had never
lived in anything appreciably larger than his own dwelling. He knew
there was not a house in Sneyd-road, Longshaw, worth more than
twenty-five pounds a year. The whole outbreak was shocking and
disgraceful. He scarcely recognised her.

He said nothing. And then suddenly he said: "I shall buy no Wilbraham
Hall, lass." His voice was final.

"You could sell it again at a profit," said she. "You could turn it into
a building estate" (parrot-cry caught from himself or from Emanuel),
"and later on we could go and live somewhere else."

"Yes," said he; "Buckingham Palace, likely!"