"To us?" said Margaret. "To you."
"I and you are one, dear," he said, simply. "Now, so far as I am concerned, I don't care a fig for the money; but I don't think I ought to rob you of it."
"And I care less than a fig!" she said, smiling.
His face cleared from the faint shadow which had dwelt upon it while he had been speaking.
"You don't! Madge, you don't know how glad you make me! I might have known that you would not care about it! Let it go! I would rather let a million slip than there should be any concealment! We'll go and tell him at once—or I'll go, and fetch you afterward. I knew you'd say so, even while Austin was advising me!"
"Austin? Who is Austin?" she asked.
"What an idiot I am!" he exclaimed, with a laugh. "I am talking as if you knew everybody I know, and everything I know! You see, it seems as if I had known you for years, and that we had been one since we were boy and girl!"
She laid her hand timidly on his head, and lovingly smoothed the black, clustered hair.
"Austin is Austin Ambrose," he went on; "the best fellow in the world. He is the greatest friend I have, Madge, and I want you to like him awfully."
"I like him already if he is a friend of yours—Blair," she said.