Money--I hate the very word," she said, clinching her teeth.
She urged her view no more, but in her own heart she felt sure that she had read Mr.Bartley aright.

Why, he was a trader, into the bargain.
As for Mary, when she came to think over this conversation, her own subtle instinct told her that stronger pressure than ever would now be brought on her.

Her timidity, her maiden modesty, and her desire to do right set her on her defense.

She determined to have loving but impartial advice, and so she overcame her shyness, and wrote to Mr.Hope.Even then she was in no hurry to enter on such a subject by letter, so she must commence by telling him that her father had set a great many people, most of them strangers, to dig for coal.

That cross old thing, Colonel Clifford, had been heard to sneer at her dear father, and say unkind and disrespectful things--that the love of money led to loss of money, and that papa might just as well dig a well and throw his money into that.
She herself was sorry he had not waited for Mr.Hope's return before undertaking so serious a speculation.