’He never told me anything, Uncle Abel.  We were happy always, he and I together, because we loved each other.  But I know that life is always hard, and that the good suffer most,’ said Gladys simply.

A strange and unwonted thrill touched the selfish heart of the old man at these words, as they fell gravely from the young lips, formed in their perfect sweetness for the happy curves of joy and hope.

’Well, well, if these are your views, you are less likely to be disappointed,’ he said, in gruff haste.  ’Well, to go on.  I am a poor man, and I have a poor little home; I hope, when you come to share it, you will be a help, and not altogether a burden on it?’

‘I shall try.  I can learn to work.  I must learn now,’ Gladys answered, with exemplary meekness.

’There is an old woman who comes to do my little turn of a morning.  There is no reason why now I should not dispense with her services.  She is dear at the money, anyhow.  I have often grudged it.’

‘I wonder to hear that you are so poor,’ said Gladys, looking straight into his face with her young, fearless eyes.  ’Papa told me once that you were quite rich, and that you had a splendid business.’

Abel Graham looked distinctly annoyed at this unexpected statement regarding his worldly affairs.

’Your father, Mary, was as ignorant of the practical affairs of life as an unborn babe.  He never showed his ignorance more than when he told you that fabrication—­a pure fabrication of his fancy.  I have a little trade in the oil and tallow line.  No, not a shop, only a little warehouse in a back street in Glasgow.  When you see it you will wonder how it has ever kept body and soul together.  A splendid business!  Ha! ha!  That is good!’

‘And do you live near it, Uncle Abel?’

’I live at it—­in it, in fact; my house is in the warehouse.  It’s not a very genteel locality, nor a fine house, it is good enough for me; but I warn you not to expect anything great, and I can’t alter my way of life for you.’

‘I hope I should never expect it,’ answered Gladys quietly.  ’And you live there quite alone?’

‘Not quite.  There is Walter Hepburn.’

‘Who is Walter Hepburn?’ asked Gladys, and the Scotch name fell most musically from her lips for the first time, the name which was one day to be the dearest to her on earth.

’He’s the office boy—­an imp of the devil he is; but he is sharp and clever as a needle; and then he is cheap.’

‘Are cheap things always good, Uncle Abel?’ Gladys asked.  ’I have heard papa say that cheap things are so often nasty, and he has spoken to me more than once of the sin of cheapness.  Even genius must be bought and sold cheaply.  Oh, he felt it all so bitterly.’

’Mary Graham, your foolish father was his own worst enemy, and I doubt he will prove yours too, if that is all he has taught you.  You had better get tea at once.’