be disappointed yourself about your girl. David
will make her a very good husband. They will be happy enough, even
though not very rich."

"Does that matter much?"

"I used to think so. I had so sore a lesson of poverty in my youth, that
it gave me an almost morbid terror of it, not for myself, but for any
woman I cared for. Once I would not have done as Dalziel has for the
world. Now I have changed my mind. At any rate, David will not have one
misfortune to contend with. He has a thoroughly good opinion of himself,
poor fellow! He will not suffer from that horrible self-distrust which
makes some men let themselves drift on and on with the tide, instead of
taking the rudder into their own hands and steering straight on--direct
for the haven where they would be. Oh, that I had done it."

He spoke passionately, and then sat silent. At last, muttering something
about "begging her pardon," and "taking a liberty," he changed the
conversation into another channel, by asking whether this marriage, when
it happened--which, of course could not be just immediately--would make
any difference to her circumstances.

Some difference, she explained, because the girls would receive their
little fortunes whenever they came of age or married, and the sisters
would not like to be parted; besides, Helen's money would help the
establishment. Probably, whenever David married, he would take them
both away; indeed, he had said as much.

"And then shall you stay on here?"

"I may, for I have a small income of my own; besides, there are your two
little boys, and I might find two or three more. But I do not trouble
myself much about the future. One thing is certain, I need never work
as hard as I have done all my life."

"Have you worked so very hard, then, my poor--"

He left the sentence unfinished; his hand, half extended, was drawn back,
for the three young people were seen coming down the garden, followed by
the two boys, returning from their classes. It was nearly dinner-time,
and people must dine, even though in love; and boys must be kept to
their school work, and all the daily duties of life must be done. Well,
perhaps, for many of us, that such should be! I think it was as well for
poor Fortune Williams.

The girls had come in wet through, with one of those sudden "haars" which
are not uncommon at St. Andrews in spring, and it seemed likely to last
all day. Mr. Roy looked out of the window at it with a slightly