for Michael to marry? His
wife must be very nice--nicer than most girls, she said to herself; and
here she looked at him a little wistfully; but Michael did not make any
response. He had the poker in his hand, and when she left off speaking
he broke up a huge coal into a dozen glowing splinters.

'And, then, do you remember,' she went on, 'how you used to long for a
mail phaeton, and a pair of bay horses? "When my ship comes I will drive
a pair!" How often you have said that to me! Will you drive me in the
Park sometimes, Michael, until you have someone else whom you want to
take?--for, of course, when you have a wife----'

But here he interrupted her with marked impatience:

'I shall never have a wife. I wish you would not talk such nonsense,
Audrey;' and there was such bitterness in his tone that she looked quite
frightened. But the next moment he spoke more gently. 'Do you not see,
dear, that I am a little upset about all this money coming to me? It is
a great responsibility, as well as a pleasure.'

Then as she looked a little downcast at his rebuke, he put his hand
lightly upon her brown hair and turned her face towards him.

'Why, there are tears in your eyes, you foolish child!' he said quickly.
'Did you really mind what I said, my dear Audrey?' in a more agitated
tone--for, to his surprise, a large bright tear fell on his other hand.

'Oh, it was not that!' she returned, in rather a choked voice. 'Please
don't look so concerned, Michael. You know I never mind your scolding
me.'

'Then what is it?' he asked anxiously. 'What can have troubled you? Was
it my want of sympathy with your little plans? The old oak, and the
carvings and the books, and even the mail phaeton, may come by and by,
when I have had time to realise my position as Croesus. Did my apathy
vex you, Audrey?'

'No; for of course I understood you, and I liked you all the better for
not caring about things just now. It was only--you will think me very
foolish, Michael'--and here she did look ashamed of herself--'but I
felt, somehow, as though all this money would separate us. You will not
go on living at Woodcote, and you will have a home of your own and other
interests; and perhaps--don't be vexed--but if ever you do marry, I
hope--I hope--your wife will be good to me.'

'I think I can promise you that,' he returned quietly. 'Thank you, dear,
for telling me the truth.'

'Yes; but, Michael, are you not shocked at my selfishness?'

'Not in