"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.