"Now you mention it," said Mr. Welwyn, lighting a cigarette, "I believe you did--ah--hand me the money. But I fear I was weak--quixotic, if you will. I gave it away." He raised a deprecating hand. "No! Please! I beg! Do not ask me more, dearest. It was one of those private disbursements for which a man with a weakness for his fellow-creatures often finds himself made liable. A little nameless charity. It will appear upon no subscription-list; no public acknowledgment will be made. But--I have my reward. Do not embarrass me, Martha, by alluding to the matter again." Mr. Welwyn, quite affected by the memory of his own generosity, took his wife tenderly in his arms and kissed her upon the forehead. He then blew his nose violently, evidently ashamed of his own weakness, and sat down by the fire with the newspaper. Mrs. Welwyn knew only too well what the little nameless charity had been; but, after all, seven pounds odd was a small price to pay for the affection of such a husband as hers. She accepted the embrace gratefully, sighed, and said:-- "Very well, dearie. It’s a good thing," she added inconsequently, "that the house is our own and we don’t have to bother about rent. Rates are bad enough. The butcher has been a bit crusty of late; and what with Pumpherston not paying for his room and Tilly giving up her blouse-designing, I don’t believe there’s change for a sovereign in the house." Mr. Welwyn arose from his armchair, finished the refreshment contained in the tumbler (which he had placed conveniently upon the mantel-piece), and smiled indulgently upon his care-worn helpmeet. "You women, you women!" he said, shaking his handsome head in playful reproach. "No breadth of view! No sense of proportion! Martha, dearest, how often have I begged you never to judge a situation by its momentary aspect? Cultivate a sense of perspective. Step back--" Suiting the action to the word, Mr. Welwyn trod heavily upon the fire-irons in the fender. These resentfully retaliated, the knob of the shovel springing up and striking him a sharp rap upon the knuckles, while the tongs nipped him viciously in the ankle. After the clatter had subsided and Mr. Welwyn had said what many a less distinguished man would have said under similar circumstances, his habitual placidity of temper returned, and he resumed his lecture where it had been interrupted. "I was about to urge you, Martha," he continued, "to cast your mind _forward_--forward to the time when you will possess a wealthy son-in-law." Mrs. Welwyn, who was endeavouring to remove from the sofa certain traces of its recent occupancy by the glutinous Caution and the adhesive Cure, turned suddenly and faced her husband. "Lucius," she said gravely, "I have a feeling that there is going to be trouble over this business." "Over what business?" enquired Mr. Welwyn. "Over this son-in-law business," said Mrs. Welwyn doggedly. "Mr. Mainwaring--" "Richard, dear--Richard!"