“I’m afraid you don’t altogether approve of me,” he said, quite unabashed.

“I don’t think you have much pluck,” said Nora, not unkindly.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.  I’ve as much as anyone else, I expect, only I don’t make a fuss about it.”

“Oh, pluck to stand up and let yourself be shot at.”—­She flushed slightly at the remembrance of Frank standing in this very room in front of the gun in her hand.  Would she ever forget his laugh!—­“But pluck to do the same monotonous thing day after day, plain, honest, hard work—­you haven’t got that sort of pluck.  You’re a failure and the worst of it is, you’re not ashamed of it.  It seems to fill you with self-satisfaction.  Oh, you’re incorrigible,” she ended with a laugh.

“I am; let’s let it go at that.  I suppose there’s nothing you want me to take home; I shall be going down to Tunbridge Wells to see mother.  Got any messages?”

“I don’t know that I have.  Eddie has just brought me a couple of letters.  I’ll have a look at them first.”

She went over to the table and picked up Miss Pringle’s letter and opened it.

After reading a few lines, she gave a little cry.

“Oh!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Marsh.

“What can she mean?  Listen!  ’I’ve just heard from Mr. Wynne about your good luck and I’m glad to say I have another piece of good news for you.’”

Dropping the letter, she tore open the other.  It contained a check.  She gave it a quick glance.

“A check for five hundred pounds!  Oh, Eddie, listen.”  She read from Mr. Wynne’s letter:  “’Dear Miss Marsh—­I have had several interviews with Mr. Wickham in relation to the late Miss Wickham’s estate, and I ventured to represent to him that you had been very badly treated.  Now that everything is settled, he wishes me to send you the enclosed check as some recognition of your devoted services to his late aunt—­five hundred pounds.”

“That’s a very respectable sum,” said Marsh, nodding his head sagely.

“I could do with that myself,” remarked Hornby.

“I’ve never had so much money in all my life!”

“But what’s the other piece of good news that Miss Stick-in-the-mud has for you?”

“Oh, I quite forgot.  Where is it?” Her brother stooped and picked the fallen letter from the floor.

“Thank you.  Um-um-um-um-um.  Oh, yes, ’Piece of good news for you.  I write at once so that you may make your plans accordingly.  I told you in my last letter, did I not, of my sister-in-law’s sudden death?  Now my brother is very anxious that I should make my home with him.  So I am leaving Mrs. Hubbard.  She wishes me to say that if you care to have my place as her companion, she will be very pleased to have you.  I have been with her for thirteen years and she has always treated me like an equal.  She is very considerate and there is practically nothing to do but to exercise the dear little dogs.  The salary is thirty-five pounds a year.’”