“Hum! and the furniture?  Do you undertake that too?”

“Of course.  Don’t you see, I can do it all out of the money I have not been able to use.  There is quite three thousand pounds on deposit in the bank.  You know you wrote to me only a month ago about letting the money lie idle.  I shall employ it now, for my protegee, Miss Trant, will be my only manager.  I will pay her wages, and whatever profit after comes to me.”

“A very unknown quantity,” said the lawyer, drily.  “Still, the house can’t run away, and I suppose will aways let for fifty or sixty pounds a year.”

“Fifty, I think.”

“Then I will look into the matter.  Is it in habitable repair?”

“It seems so.  Do your best to have the purchase completed as soon as possible, dear Mr. Newton.  I want to start my modiste in good time to catch the home-coming people.”

“Believe me, it is an unwise project,” said Newton, thoughtfully.

“I know you think so, and you are right to counsel me according to your conscience; but as I am quite determined, you must not let me go to a stranger for help.”

“Very well; give me the address.”

“Seven Malden Street, Paddington.  Bell & Co., house agents, in Harrow Road, have it on their books.”

“Good!  I’ll get a surveyor to see to sanitary arrangements, etc.  Now that, as usual, you have conquered again and again, tell me something of yourself.  Are you tired of the little nephews yet?”

“No, indeed.  I have been happier with them than I dared hope to be when I was left alone nearly a year ago, yet”—­Her voice faltered and her soft dark eyes filled.

“Yes, yes,” hastily, with a man’s dread of tears; “you couldn’t get over that all at once.  But you know it is a very Quixotic business taking those boys; and Mrs. Ormonde is not the woman to relieve you should any difficulty arise.”

“But when boys are well provided for there never can be a difficulty.  Ah, Mr. Newton, what a wonderful magician money is!  What would become of me without it?  It is almost worth risking anything to get it.”

“Or, apparently, to get rid of it,” remarked Mr. Newton.  “By-the-way, that was a tremendous smash of Errington’s.  Did you hear anything about him?”

“Yes,” rather faintly.

“The reason I mention him is that, curiously enough, he was the man your uncle left everything to in that will he very fortunately destroyed.  Of course I should only mention it to you:  though now all is passed and gone, it is of no importance.  He has behaved very well.  I am told he has turned to literature.  It’s a pity he did not follow his profession; but it would be rather late in the day for that.  I think you must find these rooms rather stuffy and warm after the sea-breezes, for you are looking pale and fagged again.”

“I feel a headache coming on,” said Katherine, pulling herself together.  “I hope you will pay me a visit someday.  I should like to show you my dear little Charlie.  He has a great look of my mother, especially his eyes; they are just like hers.”