her, no one could have any right to ask questions
as to when or how this or that portion of the property had accrued.
"But I don't think I'm going to die yet, Brooke," she said. "If it is
God's will, I am ready. Not that I'm fit, Brooke. God forbid that I
should ever think that. But I doubt whether I shall ever be fitter. I
can go without repining if He thinks best to take me." Then he stood
up by her bedside, with his hand upon hers, and after some hesitation
asked her whether she would wish to see her nephew Hugh. "No," said
she, sharply. Brooke went on to say how pleased Hugh would have been
to come to her. "I don't think much of death-bed reconciliations,"
said the old woman, grimly. "I loved him dearly, but he didn't love
me, and I don't know what good we should do each other." Brooke
declared that Hugh did love her; but he could not press the matter,
and it was dropped.

On that evening at eight Dorothy came down to her tea. She had dined
at the same table with Brooke that afternoon, but a servant had been
in the room all the time and nothing had been said between them. As
soon as Brooke had got his tea he began to tell the story of his
failure about Hugh. He was sorry, he said, that he had spoken on the
subject, as it had moved Miss Stanbury to an acrimony which he had
not expected.

"She always declares that he never loved her," said Dorothy. "She has
told me so twenty times."

"There are people who fancy that nobody cares for them," said Brooke.

"Indeed there are, Mr. Burgess; and it is so natural."

"Why natural?"

"Just as it is natural that there should be dogs and cats that are
petted and loved and made much of, and others that have to crawl
through life as they can, cuffed and kicked and starved."

"That depends on the accident of possession," said Brooke.

"So does the other. How many people there are that don't seem to
belong to anybody,--and if they do, they're no good to anybody.
They're not cuffed exactly, or starved; but--"

"You mean that they don't get their share of affection?"

"They get perhaps as much as they deserve," said Dorothy.

"Because they're cross-grained, or ill-tempered, or disagreeable?"

"Not exactly that."

"What then?" asked Brooke.

"Because they're just nobodies. They are not anything particular to
anybody, and so they go on living till they die. You know what I
mean, Mr. Burgess. A man who is a nobody can perhaps make himself
somebody,--or, at any rate, he c