er, thanks to the terrible lifelong obstinacy of the little
boy from the Bastille. And Edwin had had the business unburdened. It
was not growing, but it brought in more than twice as much as he spent.
Soon he would be as rich as either of the girls, and that without undue
servitude. He bought books surpassing those books of Tom Orgreave which
had once seemed so hopelessly beyond his reach. He went to the theatre.
He went to concerts. He took holidays. He had been to London, and
more than once. He had a few good friends. He was his own master.
Nobody dreamed of saying him nay, and no bad habits held him in
subjection. Everywhere he was treated with quite notable respect. Even
when, partly from negligence, and partly to hide recurring pimples, he
had allowed his beard to grow, Clara herself had not dared to titter.
And although he suffered from certain disorders of the blood due to lack
of exercise and to his condition, his health could not be called bad.
The frequency of his colds had somewhat diminished. His career, which
to others probably seemed dull and monotonous, presented itself to him
as almost miraculously romantic in its development.

And withal he could uneasily ask himself, "Am I happy?" Maggie did not
guess that, as he bent unseeing over his precious "Manchester Guardian,"
he was thinking: "I must hold an inquisition upon my whole way of
existence. I must see where I stand. If ever I am to be alive, I ought
to be alive now. And I'm not at all sure whether I am." Maggie never
put such questions to herself. She went on in placidness from hour to
hour, ruffled occasionally.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FOUR.

An unusual occurrence gave him the opportunity to turn over a new leaf
immediately. The sounds of the front-door bell and of voices in the
hall were followed by the proud entrance of Auntie Hamps herself into
the dining-room.

"Now don't disturb yourselves, please," Mrs Hamps entreated. She often
began with this phrase.

Maggie sprang up and kissed her, somewhat effusively for Maggie, and
said in a quiet, restrained tone--

"Many happy returns of the day, auntie."

Then Edwin rose, scraping his arm-chair backwards along the floor, and
shook hands with her, and said with a guilty grin--

"A long life and a merry one, auntie!"

"Eh!" she exclaimed, falling back with a sigh of satisfaction into a
chair by the table. "I'm sure everyb