absurd. I am not a bit ashamed of myself. Of
course, I am sorry the poor man is dead; but as I never saw him, I
cannot be excessively grieved; but I am delighted that he has done the
right thing and left you all his money, and I am sure in your heart that
you are glad, too.'

'It does not strike you that I may regard it in the light of an
unmitigated bore. What does an old bachelor like myself want with this
heap of money? I should like to know how I am to spend six or seven
thousand a year--why, the very idea is oppressive!'

'You are very good at pretence, Michael; as though I am not clever
enough to see through that flimsy attempt at philosophy! You think it
would be _infra dig._ to look too delighted.'

'Oh, you think I am going in for a stoic?' he returned blandly.

'Yes, but you are not really one; you were never cut out for a poor man,
Michael; the _role_ did not suit you at all. It is a pain and a grief to
you to travel second class, and it is only the best of everything that
is good enough for you; and you like to put up at first-class hotels,
and to have all the waiters and railway officials crowding round you.
Even when we were in Scotland the gillie took you for some titled
aristocrat, you were so lavish with your money. It is a way you have,
Michael, to open your purse for everyone. No wonder the poor widow
living down by the fir-plantation called you the noble English
gentleman.'

'Why, what nonsense you talk!' he replied.

But all the same it pleased him to think that she had remembered these
things. Oh, those happy days that would never come back!

'And now you will be able to gratify all your tastes. You have always
been so fond of old oak, and you can have a beautiful house, and furnish
it just as you like; and you can buy pictures, and old china, and books.
Why, you can have quite a famous library, and if you want our
assistance, Gage and I will be proud to help you; and if you will only
consult us, it will be the loveliest house you ever saw.'

'What do I want with a house?' he returned a little morosely. 'I should
think rooms would be far better for a bachelor.'

'Ah, but you need not be a bachelor any longer,' she replied gaily. 'You
have always told us that you could not afford to marry; but now you can
have the house and wife too.' But here she stopped for a moment, for
somehow the words sounded oddly as she said them. Michael's wife! What a
curious idea! And would she be quite willing