Whereat the squire asserted that the man or woman possessing all the good qualities to make a perfect partner would neither be better nor worse for having the money, unless it were indispensable to their union. "What does it matter which has it, provided either has enough to make marriage prudent?" he asked. "Ah, but," returned Mr. Mervyn, "I could never be so beholden to a wife. If I had not possessed the means to offer such a home as I should like to see the woman I loved the mistress of, I should have borne my trial and held my peace." "Then, sir," said the old squire, waxing warm, and standing erect as he spoke, "your love would have been worth little, and its strength but small, if money could have entered into such calculation with it, and pride strangled it altogether." But he had hardly uttered the words ere he checked himself, and with a pleasant smile held out his hand to the old friend, who had risen, too, with a somewhat indignant manner, saying, "Forgive me, Mervyn, if I spoke too warmly. The question is but an abstract one, after all. I know: your true heart too well to doubt it. It happened that you could win your wife and keep your resolution. But had you loved a rich lassie, you would never have inflicted the cruel wrong of being silent about it, if you thought she had bestowed an honest heart upon you." Mr. Mervyn laughed and clasped the squire's hand, and so linked, they passed out and into the drawing-room, the curate following, and greatly exercised in his mind by the discussion, in which he had taken no part but that of listener. He knew that Anna Spencer had half her dead mother's fortune, and that not a trifle, in her own right, and he had ever deemed this a barrier which his pride could not overleap. There was a little interval of singing, and Aunt Adelaide dozed now and then, as old ladies will, and wakened with a start, to thank the young people for the music which had been unheard by her, and to declare that it was very pretty indeed. The little party walked to Fairhill in the gloaming, and saw the children, and helped to distribute the gifts. And Mr. Spencer's face was like the weather—much more Christmas-like than could have been expected. His heart was far too warm, his nature too kindly, to be unsympathetic when he saw others happy. He tried to forget the cloud that had burst over his own hearth, and thanked God that there was so much of sunshine left for others and for him. As to Mr. Ulyett! Nobody would have imagined that a caustic word had ever dropped from his lips, or that he could doubt the disinterestedness of any human being. He was the life and soul of the Christmas gathering. He was pulled about by small hands, and clung to, and made to act as a beast of burden. He looked so happy at being tyrannized over by a crowd of children, that everyone felt it was the greatest mistake for him to be an old bachelor.