"May be more, may be less, than folks expect. That's neither here nor there. Not much use to expect gratitude in this world," pursued Mr. Carden-Cox, with a moralising air. "If I did—but I don't! Do your duty, and never mind what is said. That's my axiom!" It might be his axiom, but it was not his rule of action, as Fulvia could have told him. "My duty is plain now. If your fortune had come to you intact, you wouldn't have needed my pittance. Ha! Things are different, and I mean to make a difference." "Where would your pittance have gone then?" "Half to you—half to Nigel." "Pray let it stand so, uncle Arthur. If you change at all, leave all to Nigel." Mr. Carden-Cox laughed. "Why not? It comes to the same thing." "Would, if you were married. Ceremony hasn't taken place yet!" A chill shot through Fulvia at the implied suggestion. "I would much rather that there should be no alteration," she repeated. "And I would rather that there should be. I know what young men are—and girls too! No, no! You've lost enough already through the Brownings—through that scoun—Well, well, no need to say more. But I'll secure this to you, hard and fast. Don't mean to lose another day. Why, who knows?" demanded Mr. Carden-Cox, with a lively air. "Not one of us may be alive a week hence!" "Your money will not do me much good in that case." He laughed again, and asked, "When is the wedding to take place?" "I don't know. Nobody knows. How can you ask—now? Our trouble so new, still! And people cannot marry upon nothing." "I'll have a talk with Nigel. Don't like affairs dragging on interminably. Sure to end by getting tired of one another." Fulvia could have burst into tears; for there was an underlying consciousness which gave a keen edge to his words, but she only said, "A happy lookout for married life!" "Oh, after you're married, it's different. Comes as a matter of course, then, to put up with what can't be helped. Tied together, and no escape, so no use to struggle. Well, I'll have a talk with Nigel, now we're in smooth waters again. See if I can't bring it about. Wouldn't need much additional, to set a young couple going." "Uncle, please leave things alone; please do not interfere. Nigel will not like it." "Not like it! Fudge! He may do without liking. Not like it, indeed. As if he didn't know me by this time! Don't be so squeamish, child; and don't take to looking cross. It doesn't suit you. I didn't ask your advice; don't need anybody's advice. We'll let that matter drop. I say—nothing ever come to light all these weeks about the lost postscript?" "The lost postscript?" She spoke bewilderedly. The abrupt change of ideas brought a moment's confusion. "Nigel's postscript—the fourth 'N.B.,' you know—ha, ha!—Sent to you and never found! Nothing heard of it all these weeks, hey?"