“Your offer comes too late.  If, instead of being one of the principal actors in that humiliating little drama of my life, you had stood by me patiently and faithfully, I would have given you at once my deepest gratitude and, eventually, my love.  I did not deserve such constancy, but I would have rewarded it to the extent of my ability.  You thought I was mercenary.  I was, and have been punished; but you forget that you made my mercenary spirit your ally, and kept me from becoming engaged to the man whom you well knew that I preferred.  My regard for him is not so deep, however, but that I shall survive and face my altered fortunes bravely.  If you had been kind to me during those bitter days—­if you had kept my father from failure, instead of deserting him after he had done his best for you—­he did do his best for you—­I should have valued you more than your wealth, and proved it by my life.  I have since learned that I am not afraid of poverty, and that I must find truer friends.”

Arnault, like so many others, turned from what “might have been” to his pursuit of gold, but it had lost its brightness forever.

An old admirer of Stella’s, a plain, sturdy business man, to whom she had scarcely given a thought in her palmy days, eventually renewed his attentions, and won as much love as the girl probably could have given to any one.  By his aid she restored her father’s broken fortunes and established them on a modest but secure basis, and she proved to her husband a sensible wife, always recognizing that in promoting his best interests and happiness she secured her own.

Dr. Sommers is still the genial physician and the Izaak Walton of the Catskills.  Mr. and Mrs. Wendall are “plodding toward home” with a resignation that is almost cheerful.

Henry Muir continues devoted to business, and his wife is devoted to him.  He rarely permits a suitable opportunity to pass without remarking that the two sisters are the “most sensible women in the world.”