Mr. Harper turned away. “Wherefore?”
“Cannot you guess? I thought you would at once—nay, that you would be the first to propose it. I am glad I am first. Now, do guess.”
“I had rather not, if it is a serious matter. If otherwise, I am hardly quite merry enough for jests to-day. Tell me.”
“It is a very simple thing, though it has cost me half-an-hour's puzzling. I never thought so much about business in all my life. Well,”—she hesitated.
“Go on, Agatha.”
“I want—it must come out—I want you to take half or all of my—our money which is in the Funds (as I believe Major Harper said, though I have not the least idea what Funds are)—and with it to buy a new mine, and set the poor miners all working again; they'll like it a great deal better than flax-growing. And perhaps we could afterwards build schools and cottages, and do oceans of good. Oh! how glad I am I was born an heiress!”
She rose, her eyes brightening; her little figure dilated; she had never looked so lovely—so loveable. And yet the husband sat as it were stone blind and dumb.
“You cannot have any objection to this, I know,” Agatha went on. “It is not like giving money openly away—making a show of charity. Nobody need know but that we do it on our own account—just to increase our riches;” and she laughed merrily at the idea. “Think now—how much money would it take?”
“I cannot tell.”
“A great deal, probably, since you look so serious over it,” said the wife, a little vexed. “Perhaps my plan is foolish in some things; but I think it is right, and I am very firm—firmer than you imagine—when I feel I am in the right. Surely, living so cheaply in that tiny house—and we will live cheaper still if you choose—we shall have plenty to spare. We must do this. Say that we shall.”