"You and everybody will turn me into the most selfish creature that ever breathed if I let you have your way."
"And why not? There is not very much left to you now." His voice was a little bitter, and a shadow crept across his face.
"Hush!" I said. "I have nearly everything a girl could possibly want—husband, home, friends, and now riches. Why," I continued, trying to divert his thoughts, "why didn't you tell me your most important news on the day you returned home? Didn't you know?"
"Yes, I knew. The will was read after the funeral. I was going to tell you. I kept it as a bonne-bouche till the night fell, and then there was your news——"
He broke off and did not finish.
"Afterwards," he said a little later, "I waited till my right to the money was confirmed. My mother was inclined to dispute it. She was Aunt Letitia's only sister, and considered she had the first claim, though she had not been to see her for years. Yorkshire was too dull for her after the gaieties of London. Still, she seemed to think the money was hers by right." He slowly dissected a sweet-pea. "I hope never again to see such a look on any woman's face as was on my mother's when the will was being read. It was very ugly and—sad. Poor mother, she has missed the best things of life." He sighed deeply. Amelia's voice singing "I wouldn't leave my little wooden hut" came through the pantry window.
"She too is evidently of the same opinion as I," I said, smiling. "She doesn't want to leave."
"You are in collusion, that is quite clear. Two women are too much for any one man, especially when one of the women is an Amelia. We will stay here and see the old year out, Marg. Your wishes are but commands. What is your desire now, my princess—to be wheeled nearer the sweet-peas?" He stroked my cheek lovingly.
"Was there ever a husband like mine?" I asked myself. And aloud, "Go and tell Amelia to sing less loudly, and inquire of her the size in shoes she takes."