‘Oh, Charlie! you have not half learned your lesson yet! I know I’m a very pretty girl, because you’ve so often told me so; but I do not expect nor wish that you should never meet somebody you think much better-looking than myself. And Tessie Lovett and I are formed upon two such entirely opposite models! How could you think my wounded vanity would require that little postscript of yours as salve?’ ‘I’ll tell you what I _do_ think, Hilda,’ said Charlie, with sudden bluntness, ‘and that is, that you are the most honest and straightforward woman I’ve ever known; and I’m sure the man who gets you will be an out-and-out lucky fellow, whoever he may be.’ ‘Well, never mind him, Charlie; he has not appeared upon the scene as yet, so we can go on very well without him. Tessie has, as you say, a very sweet and pretty face, and the goodness of her heart shines through her eyes and makes it beautiful. She has a great deal of trouble and anxiety to bear, and she bears it with the utmost meekness and patience. I have a great affection for her, and I hope I shall live to see her the wife of some good man whose love will make up for the sorrows of her youth. And as this brings me to the very point on which I want to consult you, Charlie, suppose we sit down on this bank whilst I tell you my difficulties.’ We had reached the Calvary now, the very place where I had first met the Mère Fromard, and were as much alone and more secure from listeners than if we had been shut up within four walls. So I commenced to recount the perplexity in which I found myself with regard to money—the attempts I had made to procure it and the failures that had succeeded them—and ended by asking him to tell me whether it would be advisable to communicate with Mr. Warrington on the subject, or to wait and see what time might bring me. I had called Charlie Sandilands a ‘baby,’ and in some things a young man in love, or supposing himself to be so, is a very great baby compared to an energetic and helpful woman with all her wits about her. Yet I knew when it came to a question of business, _pur et simple_, that his decision would be worth twenty of mine, being less likely to be actuated by any other feeling than a desire to see justice done to his friend. His advice was that I should write without any delay to Mr. Warrington, and tell him all I knew. ‘Who had the management of your mother’s affairs during her lifetime, Hilda?’ ‘Mr. Lovett entirely, I believe; at least, you see it was on this wise, Charlie. My mother had a small pension granted to her by Government, on account of my father’s scientific discoveries being adopted by the nation, but that dies with her. The only real property my father left behind him consists of shares in a tea-raising company in the Himalayas, producing annually one hundred and fifty pounds, and that is the money for which Mr. Lovett is still trustee for me.’ ‘But there should be two trustees, Hilda.’