“If I gave her a tenner,” he said, “that would make her see as I’d settled to forget that business, and let bygones be bygones.  I’ll give her a tenner.”

It was preposterous.  She could not, of course, spend it.  She would put it away.  So it would not be wasted.

Upon this he rose.

Poor simpleton!  Ever since the commencement of his relations with Helen, surprise had followed surprise for him.  And the series was not ended.

The idea of giving a gift made him quite nervous.  He fumbled in his cashbox for quite a long time, and then he called, nervously: 

“Helen!”

She came out of the kitchen into the front room. (Dress:  White muslin—­unspeakable extravagance in a town of smuts.)

“It’s thy birthday, lass?”

She nodded, smiling.

“Well, tak’ this.”

He handed her a ten-pound note.

“Oh, thank you, uncle!” she cried, just on the calm side of effusiveness.

At this point the surprise occurred.

There was another ten-pound note in the cashbox.  His fingers went for a stroll on their own account and returned with that note.

“Hold on!” he admonished her for jumping to conclusions.  “And this!” And he gave her a second note.  He was much more startled than she was.

“Oh, thank you, uncle!” And then, laughing:  “Why, it’s nearly a sovereign for every year of my life!”

“How old art?”

“Twenty-six.”

“I’m gone dotty!” he said to his soul.  “I’m gone dotty!” And his eyes watched his fingers take six sovereigns out of the box, and count them into her small white hand.  And his cheek felt her kiss.

She went off with twenty-six pounds—­twenty-six pounds!  The episode was entirely incredible.

Breakfast was a most pleasing meal.  Though acknowledging himself an imbecile, he was obliged to acknowledge also that a certain pleasure springs from a certain sort of imbecility.  Helen was adorable.

Now that same morning he had received from Mrs. Prockter a flattering note, asking him, if he could spare the time, to go up to Hillport and examine Wilbraham Hall with her, and give her his expert advice as to its value, etc.  He informed Helen of the plan.

“I’ll go with you,” she said at once.

“What’s in the wind?” he asked himself.  He saw in the suggestion a device for seeing Emanuel.

“The fact is,” she added, “I want to show you a house up at Hillport that might do for us.”

He winced.  She had said nothing about a removal for quite some time.  He hated the notion of removal. ("Flitting,” he called it.) It would mean extra expense, too.  As for Hillport, he was sure that nothing, except cottages, could be got in Hillport for less than fifty pounds a year.  If she thought he was going to increase his rent by thirty-two pounds a year, besides rates, she was in error.  The breakfast finished in a slight mist.  He hardened.  The idea of her indicating houses to him!  The idea of her assuming that——­Well, no use in meeting trouble half-way!