ooked at him with additional
respect he felt, not being used to see Mr. May so prompt in payment, and
so ready with his money. This pleased him also. He walked home with his
head a little turned still, although there was a quake and flutter
underneath. Well! he said to himself, who could call it an extravagance?
a thing he had wanted for years--a thing which was a necessity, not for
luxury, but everyday use--a thing which was not dear, and which was very
handsome and substantial, and _really good_; how could any one say it
was extravagant? Ursula might stare with her big eyes, but she was only
a silly little girl, and women always were silly about expenses, alarmed
by a big bold handsome purchase, though there was nobody better at the
art of frittering away money in pretty nothings. When he got home, he
began at once nervously to clear the space where it should stand. What
an improvement it would be! and his books were getting spoiled daily in
those unsightly, open shelves, entirely spoiled. It was exciting to
anticipate its arrival, and the admiration and commotion in the house.
He called in Betsy and gave her orders about it; how, if it came when he
was absent, it was to be put in that particular place, no other.

"And mind that great care is taken, for it is valuable, and a beautiful
piece of furniture," he said.

"La, sir!" said Betsy, who was thunderstruck, though she knew it was not
"her place" to show any feeling. He did not think it was necessary to
appeal to Ursula on the same subject, but was rather glad to get out
again, feeling the restlessness which had not been dissipated, but
rather the reverse. He went and saw one or two poor people, to whom he
was much more tolerant and kind than his wont, for in general Mr. May
was not attracted towards the poor; and he gave them a shilling or two
of the money he had drawn at the bank that morning--though somehow it
had acquired a certain value in his eyes, and it was with a grudge that
he took it out of his pocket. I must not spend this, he said to himself;
but gave the shillings as a kind of tithe or propitiatory offering to
Providence, that things might go well with him. Why should not things go
well with him? He was not a bad man, he wronged nobody. He had done
nothing to-day that a saint might not have done; he wanted the
book-case, and he had the money, a sum not big enough for any more
important purpose; but which was far better disposed of so than
frittered aw