“Would I like to do it?  Oh, dear!” she exclaimed.  “Why, in all my life I have never dreamed of being able to do such things.”

That, of course, was true, he reflected, and the fact added to his appreciation of the moment.  There were, of course, many people to whom it would be impossible to contemplate the spending of a sum of money of any importance in the indulgence of a wish founded on mere taste.  He had not thought of the thing particularly in detail before, and now that he realised the significance of the fact as a fact, Emily had afforded him a new sensation.

“You may do it now, if you wish,” he said.  “I once went over the place with an architect, and he said the whole thing could be made comfortable and the atmosphere of the period wholly retained for about a thousand pounds.  It is not really dilapidated and it is worth saving.  The gables and chimneys are very fine.  I will attend to that, and you can do the rest in your own way.”

“It may take a good deal of money to buy the old things,” gasped Emily.  “They are not cheap in these days.  People have found out that they are wanted.”

“It won’t cost twenty thousand pounds,” Walderhurst answered.  “It is a farm-house after all, and you are a practical woman.  Restore it.  You have my permission.”

Emily put her hands over her eyes.  This was being the Marchioness of Walderhurst, and made Mortimer Street a thing still more incredible.  When she dropped her hands, she laughed even a trifle hysterically.

“I couldn’t thank you,” she said.  “It is as I said.  I never quite believed there were people who were able to think of doing such things.”

“There are such people,” he said.  “You are one of them.”

“And—­and—­” She put it to him with a sudden recollection of the thing her emotions had momentarily swept away.  “Oh!  I must not forget, because I am so pleased.  When it is furnished—­”

“Oh! the Osborns?  Well, we will let them have it for a few months, at any rate.”

“They will be so thankful,” emotionally.  “You will be doing them such a favour.”

“I am doing it for you, not for them.  I like to see you pleased.”

She went to take off her hat with moisture in her eyes, being overpowered by his munificence.  When she reached her room she walked about a little, because she was excited, and then sat down to think of the relief her next letter would carry to Mrs. Osborn.  Suddenly she got up, and, going to her bedside, knelt down.  She respectfully poured forth devout thanks to the Deity she appealed to when she aided in the intoning of the Litany on Sundays.  Her conception of this Power was of the simplest conventional nature.  She would have been astonished and frightened if she had been told that she regarded the Omnipotent Being as possessing many of the attributes of the Marquis of Walderhurst.  This was, in fact, true without detracting from her reverence in either case.