Madam Liberality sighed.  Poor dear Tom!  He had had his faults certainly; but how well he would have managed a butler!

This touched the weak point of her good fortune to the core.  It had come too late to heap luxuries about dear “Mother”; too late to open careers for the boys; too late to give mad frolics and girlish gaieties to light hearts, such as she and Darling had once had.  Ah, if they could have enjoyed it together years ago!

There remained, however, Madam Liberality’s old consolation:  one can be happy in the happiness of others.  There were nephews and nieces to be provided for, and a world so full of poor and struggling folk that fifteen thousand a year would only go a little way.  It was, perhaps, useful that there had been so many articles lately in the papers about begging letters, and impostors, and, the evil effects of the indiscriminate charity of elderly ladies; but the remembrance of them made Madam Liberality’s head ache, and troubled her dreams that night.

It was well that the next day was Sunday.  Face to face with those greater interests common to the rich and the poor, the living and the dead, Madam Liberality grew calmer under her new cares and prospects.  It did not need that brief pause by her mother’s grave to remind her how little money can do for us:  and the sight of other people wholesomely recalled how much it can effect.  Near the church porch she was passed by the wife of a retired chandler, who dressed in very fine silks, and who was accustomed to eye Madam Liberality’s old clothes as she bowed to her more obviously than is consistent with good breeding.  The little lady nodded very kindly in return.  With fifteen thousand a year one can afford to be quite at ease in an old shawl.

The next day was Christmas Eve.  Madam Liberality caught herself thinking that if the legacy had been smaller—­say fifty pounds a year—­she would at once have treated herself to certain little embellishments of the old house, for which she had long been ambitious.  But it would be absurd to buy two or three yards of rosebud chintz, and tire herself by making covers to two very old sofa-cushions, when the point to be decided was in which of three grandly furnished mansions she would first take up her abode.  She ordered a liberal supper, however, which confirmed Jemima in her secret opinion that the big letter had brought good news.

When, therefore, another letter of similar appearance arrived, Jemima snatched up the waiter and burst breathlessly in upon Madam Liberality, leaving the door open-behind her, though it was bitterly cold and the snow fell fast.

And when Madam Liberality opened this letter she learned that her cousin’s will had been found, and that (as seems to be natural) he had left his money where it would be associated with more money and kept well together.  His heir was a cousin also, but in the next degree—­an old bachelor, who was already wealthy; and he had left Madam Liberality five pounds to buy a mourning ring.