"A little money and a good deal of taste do wonders," observed Althea in a matter-of-fact tone. But Waveney wasn't so sure about the money. Moritz had evidently given his cousins _carte blanche_, and though there was very little new furniture in the studio, the fresh cretonne and flowering-plants gave it an air of finish and refinement. It was a pleasant life they led there. Never since his wife's death had Everard been so content and happy. Mollie's brilliant marriage gave him great satisfaction, and he had no fear of losing his little Waveney for many a year to come. He was set free from the drudgery he hated, and he and Waveney were always together. Thorold spent his Sundays with them, and he came one evening in the week beside. They had made this rule at the beginning, and he never infringed on it. Every fortnight or so they dined at the Red House, and Althea often had tea with them when she drove into town. She and Everard had resumed their old friendliness; neither of them had forgotten that scene in the verandah of the Porch House, but, by mutual consent, the subject of Noel's education had been dropped for a time. At the beginning of October the newly married pair returned to town, and spent a week at Eaton Square, and Mollie and Waveney were together every day. "Why, Mollie, I declare you have grown an inch taller," were Everard's first words to her; and privately he thought that young Lady Ralston was even handsomer than Mollie Ward had been. Both he and Waveney agreed that happiness and prosperity had not spoilt their darling; she was the same simple, light-hearted creature, thinking as little of herself, and rejoicing over her pretty things as a child might have done. Perhaps there was a little veil of shyness and reserve when she spoke of her husband. Moritz was evidently perfect in her eyes; but only to Waveney did she dwell on his good qualities. "People do not know him," she said once--"they think him eccentric; but it is just his way of talking. He is so true, Wave; Gwen says that she is sure that he has never told a lie in his life, and he is so unselfish, he is always wanting to make people happy. When he was so poor he would deprive himself of a meal if a beggar looked hungry; and now he is always planning some generous gift or other. He lends his shooting lodge to poor artists or curates. Oh! I cannot tell you half of the things he does. He calls me his little blessing; but I feel I can never, never, repay his goodness." And here such an exquisite blush tinged Mollie's cheeks, that it was a pity Lord Ralston did not see it.