"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."