"It’s the brass that’s to blame for that," said the man who had amassed a fortune of over a quarter of a million. "I’m almost sorry I had such a streak of luck. We were happier in the old days, Caroline, when we lived in the little house at Bermondsey, and went out marketing together Saturday nights, guess the old proverb that ’money’s the root of all evil’ is about right. It’s all very well, but it don’t buy happiness." "That ain’t a proverb, Bob," said his wife, reprovingly, "it’s in the Bible, and it says it’s the love of money that makes all the mischief. I sometimes think, Bob," she added, a trifle hesitatingly, for she was treading on tender ground, "that if we were a bit religious, we should be happier like." "Time enough for religion when you get notice to quit," he replied with a hard laugh, which had no mirth in it. "’Do as you would be done by’ is a good enough creed for me; and if everybody acted up to it the world would be a better place than it is, with all its parsons and church-going." "That ain’t enough to take you to heaven, Bob," said Mrs. Howell, sadly, but as she knew no better way to suggest she said no more, and the subject dropped. But in the plain, homely woman’s breast there was a deep, unsatisfied longing after a peace which she had never found, amid all the luxuries and splendour of her surroundings. While the above conversation was taking place, and Monica was being driven slowly home, the story of that disastrous day was being eagerly detailed by the other three girls at the Franklyns’, whither Amethyst had accompanied Elsa, and where to her great delight she found her mother sitting with Mrs. Franklyn. Fortunately for the invalid, no rumour of the accident had reached her room, Mr. Howell’s messenger having met the doctor after he had left home a few minutes; so that she and Mrs. Drury had been enjoying a little confidential chat about their children over a cup of tea; never dreaming but that they were all having a splendid time at Carson Rise, until Olive, who was followed by the other two girls before there had been time to become anxious about them, told how differently they had been placed. Olive and Amethyst both talked together, and there was such a confused jargon going on, that for some time neither of the ladies could get a very clear idea of what had happened; but eventually Elsa was appealed to for her version of the affair, and then they understood better. "Dear me, I am sorry for Monica," said Mrs. Drury sympathetically; "it will be a long business, I am afraid." "Poor child!" murmured the invalid; "how will she bear it?" "It’s awfully hard lines on her," cried Olive vehemently, "shut up in that great, dull house for weeks. And I shall miss her just dreadfully."