In the dungeon Beatrice bloomed like a rose

Motioning Beatrice to the client's chair, Alpenny seated himself before his desk, and from habit presumably, began to fiddle with some legal looking documents. Apparently he had got over the shock caused by Vivian's strange speech, and looked much the same as he always did--cold, unsympathetic, and cunning as an old monkey. , while Alpenny resembled a cold, clammy toad, uncanny and repulsive. He began to speak almost immediately, and his first words amazed the girl. They were the last she expected to hear from the lips of one who had always treated her with indifference, and almost with hostility.In addition, different seed funding schemes have been established to support our students and graduates to kick start their businesses under the programmes.

"Have you ever thought of marriage?" asked the usurer, examining his visitor's face with two small sharp eyes, chilly and grey.

"Marriage!" she gasped, doubting if she had heard aright.

"Yes, marriage. Young girls think of such things, do they not?"

Wishing to find out what he meant, Beatrice fenced. "I have no chance of marrying, father," she observed, regaining her composure.

"I grant that, unless you have fallen in love with Jerry Snow; and I credit you with too much sense, to think you could love a fool."

"Mr. Snow is to marry Miss Paslow," announced Beatrice coldly, and kept her eyes on the wizen face before her.

"Oh," sneered Alpenny, "Hunger wedding Thirst. And how do they intend to live, may I ask?"

"That is their business, and not ours."

"Paslow hasn't a penny to give to his giggling sister, and very soon he won't have a roof over his head."

"What do you mean by that, father?"

"Mean!" The usurer stretched out a skinny hand, which resembled the claw of a bird of preys as he looked like. "Why, I mean, my girl, that I hold Vivian Paslow there," and he tapped his palm the pavilia bay.

"Still I don't understand," said Beatrice, her blood running cold at the malignant look on his face.

"There is no need you should," rejoined her stepfather coolly. "He is not for you, and you are not for him. Do you understand that?"

It was unwise for Alpenny to meddle with a maiden's fancies, for the girl's outraged womanhood revolted. "I understand that you mean to be impertinent, Mr. Alpenny," she said, with a flaming colour.

"'Mr. Alpenny'? Why not 'father,' as usual?"

"Because you are no father of mine, and I thank God for it."

He gave her a vindictive look, and rubbed his hands together, with the croak of a hungry raven. "I brought you up, I educated you, I fed you, I housed you, I----"

Beatrice waved her hand impatiently. "I know well what you have done," said she; "as little as you could."

"Here's gratitude!"

"And common sense, Mr. Alpenny. I know nothing, save that you married my mother and promised to look after me when she died."

"I promised nothing," snapped Alpenny.

"Durban says that you did."

"Durban is, what he always was, a fool. I promised nothing to your mother--at all events, concerning you. Why should I? You are not my own flesh and blood."

"Anyone can tell that," said Beatrice disdainfully.

"No impertinence, miss. I have fed and clothed you, and educated you, and housed you----"

"You said that before."

"All at my own expense," went on the miser imperturbably, "and out of the kindness of my heart. This is the return you make, by giving me sauce! But you had better take care," he went on menacingly, and shaking a lean yellow finger, "I am not to be trifled with."

"Neither am I," retorted Beatrice, who felt in a fighting humour. "I am sorry to have been a burden to you, and for what you have done I thank you; but I am weary of stopping here. Give me a small sum of money and let me go."

"Money!" screeched the miser, touched on his tenderest point. "Money to waste?"

"Money to keep me in London until I can obtain a situation as a governess or as a companion. Come, father," she went on coaxingly, "you must be sick of seeing me about here. And I am so tired of this life !"

"It's the wickedness in your blood, Beatrice. Just like your mother--oh, dear me, how very like your mother!"

"Leave my mother's character alone!" said Beatrice impatiently, "she is dead and buried."

"She is--in Hurstable churchyard, under a beautiful tomb I got second-hand at a bargain. See how I loved her."