“Nevertheless, sir, you would not have it thought that she begrudged you an equal share of her possessions.  Your position will necessitate a certain outlay.  To maintain your wife’s dignity and your own, you must dress well, mount a good horse, be liberal in hospitality, give largely to those in need, and so forth.  With all due respect to your genius in painting, I can scarcely think that art will furnish you at once with supplies necessary to meet all these demands.”

“All this is very true, Mr. Hopkins,” says he, after a little reflection; “to tell the truth, I have lived so long in want that poverty has become my second nature, and so these matters have not entered into my calculations.  Pray, sir, continue.”

“Your wife, be she never so considerate, may not always anticipate your needs; and hence at some future moment this question of supplies must arise—­unless they are disposed of before your marriage.”

“If that could be done, Mr. Hopkins,” says he, hopefully.

“It may be done, sir, very easily.  With your cousin’s consent and yours, I, as her elected guardian, at this time will have a deed drawn up to be signed by you and her, settling one-half the estate upon you, and the other on your cousin.  This will make you not her debtor, but her benefactor; for without this deed, all that is now hers becomes yours by legal right upon your marriage, and she could not justly give away a shilling without your permission.  And thus you assure to her the same independence that you yourself would maintain.”

“Very good,” says Don Sanchez, in a sonorous voice of approval, as he lies back in his high chair, his eyes closed, and a cigarro in the corner of his mouth.

“I thank you with all my heart, Mr. Hopkins,” says Mr. Godwin, warmly.  “I entreat you have this deed drawn up—­if it be my wife’s wish.”

“You may count with certainty on that,” says I; “for if my arguments lacked power, I have but to say ’tis your desire, and ’twould be done though it took the last penny from her.”

He made no reply to this, but bending forward he gazed into the fire, with a rapture in his face, pressing one hand within the other as if it were his sweetheart’s.

“In the meantime,” says I, “if you have necessity for a hundred or two in advance, you have but to give me your note of hand.”

“Can you do me this service?” cries he, eagerly.  “Can you let me have five hundred by to-morrow?”

“I believe I can supply you to the extent of six or seven.”

“All that you can,” says he; “for besides a pressing need that will take me to London to-morrow, I owe something to a friend here that I would fain discharge.”

Don Sanchez waived his hand cavalierly, though I do believe the subtle Spaniard had hinted at this business as much for his own ends as for our assurance.

“I will have it ready against we meet in the morning,” says I.  “You are so certain of her sanction?” he asks in delight, as if he could not too much assure himself of Moll’s devotion.