“Oh, Maurice, how can you——?”

“Well, here’s the money; and half of it is yours.”

“Mine?  Oh, no!  After all you have given me.  Besides, I sha’n’t want it.”

“How’s that?”

Their eyes mete Hilliard again saw the flush in her cheeks, and began to guess its explanation.  He looked puzzled, interested.

“Do I know him?” was his next inquiry.

“Should you think it very wrong of me?” She moved aside from the line of his gaze.  “I couldn’t imagine how you would take it.”

“It all depends.  Who is the man?”

Still shrinking towards a position where Hilliard could not easily observe her, the young widow told her story.  She had consented to marry a man of whom her brother-in-law knew little but the name, one Ezra Marr; he was turned forty, a widower without children, and belonged to a class of small employers of labour known in Birmingham as “little masters.”  The contrast between such a man and Maurice Hilliard’s brother was sufficiently pronounced; but the widow nervously did her best to show Ezra Marr in a favourable light.

“And then,” she added after a pause, while Hilliard was reflecting, “I couldn’t go on being a burden on you.  How very few men would have done what you have——­”

“Stop a minute.  Is that the real reason?  If so——­”

Hurriedly she interposed.

“That was only one of the reasons—­only one.”

Hilliard knew very well that her marriage had not been entirely successful; it seemed to him very probable that with a husband of the artisan class, a vigorous and go-ahead fellow, she would be better mated than in the former instance.  He felt sorry for his little niece, but there again sentiment doubtless conflicted with common-sense.  A few more questions, and it became clear to him that he had no ground of resistance.

“Very well.  Most likely you are doing a wise thing.  And half this money is yours; you’ll find it useful.”

The discussion of this point was interrupted by a tap at the door.  Mrs. Hilliard, after leaving the room for a moment, returned with rosy countenance.

“He is here,” she murmured.  “I thought I should like you to meet him this evening.  Do you mind?”

Mr. Marr entered; a favourable specimen of his kind; strong, comely, frank of look and speech.  Hilliard marvelled somewhat at his choice of the frail and timid little widow, and hoped upon marriage would follow no repentance.  A friendly conversation between the two men confirmed them in mutual good opinion.  At length Mrs. Hilliard spoke of the offer of money made by her brother-in-law.

“I don’t feel I’ve any right to it,” she said, after explaining the circumstances.  “You know what Maurice has done for me.  I’ve always felt I was robbing him——­”

“I wanted to say something about that,” put in the bass-voiced Ezra.  “I want to tell you, Mr. Hilliard, that you’re a man I’m proud to know, and proud to shake hands with.  And if my view goes for anything, Emily won’t take a penny of what you’re offering her.  I should think it wrong and mean.  It is about time—­that’s my way of thinking—­that you looked after your own interests.  Emily has no claim to a share in this money, and what’s more, I don’t wish her to take it.”