"It's finished her off, as far as looks go," George Boult said to himself, not entirely without satisfaction. He was one of those who firmly believed his friend's ruin lay at her door. William Day had robbed to minister to his wife's extravagance and pride. It was well that she should be humbled. "There is nothing like business," he repeated. "And I have decided to invest the little capital of six hundred and forty-nine pounds and a few odd shillings I have raised for you, in a business which will yield a good return, and enable you to make a living for your two younger children. A groshery business, in short." "Grocery?" repeated Mrs. Day, gazing blankly at him. "Groshery," he said shortly, and looked hardily at her with his lips set, his chin stuck out, and his quick observant eyes on her face. "Grocery?" she reiterated faintly, at a loss for anything else to say. "You know that nice bright little business in Bridge Street? Carr's. Old Jonas Carr's. He is retiring, you know--or perhaps you don't know--it's been kept secret for business purposes. I am glad to have got hold of it in the nick of time, and I am putting your little capital into the business." "Indeed!" "It's a stroke of wonderful luck, I consider--its falling in, just now." "But I do not quite understand. Will someone who is taking the shop allow a good interest, do you mean?" "Not exactly that, ma'am." He gave a sound that might have been caused by a smothered chuckle, or have been meant for a snort of contempt, and going from the table, placed himself upon the hearthrug, where he paused, making a prayer perhaps for patience to be given him to deal with this fool in her untrained, untaught folly. "Not exactly," he went on. "I am taking the business for you to work, ma'am. Jonas Carr is an old man now, but he has lived out of the business, and brought up his children out of it, and this with only antiquated methods. With new life put into the concern, and with altogether up-to-date management, there is the making there, in my opinion--and I think I may say my opinion on such a matter is of value--of an excellent little business." "For me to work?" Mrs. Day asked in feeble protest. "Me? A _grocery_ business?" "Why not?" He eyed her relentlessly, biting his finger nails. "What did you think you were going to do with the money which I have collected for you? Spend it? And collect again?" "Not that, Mr. Boult. Certainly not that." She looked down at the black-gloved hands which lay in her lap. They trembled; to keep them steady she caught them one in the other. "I have been talking it over with my children, and we have decided, if you approve, to take a good-sized house by the sea, where we could all live together, and take in lodgers. That would be a way of making a living which would come easier to my girls and me than any other."