Fortunately for them, such a disaster
is not likely to happen!"

Helmsley was silent; and after his kindly visitor had left him that day
sat for a long time absorbed in thought, his hands resting idly on the
osiers which he was gradually becoming too weak to bend.

It was now wearing on towards the middle of June, and on one fine
morning when Mary was carefully spreading out on a mending-frame a
wonderful old flounce of priceless _point d'Alencon_ lace, preparatory
to examining the numerous repairs it needed, Helmsley turned towards her
abruptly with the question--

"When are you and Angus going to be married, my dear?"

Mary smiled, and the soft colour flew over her face at the suggestion.

"Oh, not for a long time yet, David!" she replied. "Angus has not yet
finished his book,--and even when it is all done, he has to get it
published. He won't have the banns put up till the book is accepted."

"Won't he?" And Helmsley's eyes grew very wistful. "Why not?"

"Well, it's for quite a good reason, after all," she said. "He wants to
feel perfectly independent. You see, if he could get even a hundred
pounds down for his book he would be richer than I am, and it would be
all right. He'd never marry me with nothing at all of his own."

"Yet _you_ would marry him?"

"I'm not sure that I would," and she lifted her hand with a prettily
proud gesture. "You see, David, I really love him! And my love is too
strong and deep for me to be so selfish as to wish to drag him down. I
wouldn't have him lower his own self-respect for the world!"

"Love is greater than self-respect!" said Helmsley.

"Oh, David! You know better than that! There's no love _without_
self-respect--no real love, I mean. There are certain kinds of stupid
fancies called love--but they've no 'wear' in them!" and she laughed.
"They wouldn't last a month, let alone a lifetime!"

He sighed a little, and his lips trembled nervously.

"I'm afraid, my dear,--I'm afraid I shall not live to see you married!"
he said.

She left her lace frame and came to his side.

"Don't say that, David! You mustn't think it for a moment. You're much
better than you were--even Mr. Bunce says so!"

"Even Mr. Bunce!" And he took her hand in his own and studied its smooth
whiteness and beautiful shape attentively--anon he patted it tenderly.
"You have a pretty hand, Mary! It's a rare beauty!"

"Is it?" And she looked at her rosy palm meditatively. "I've never
thought much abo