Instantly the great tears gathered in her eyes, but did not fall, and only made her all the sweeter and prettier, as she sat down beside him and said: “I must read some of them over for you, for I don’t believe you understand French very well, do you?” “Not at all,” he replied, glad to be thought ignorant of even the monosyllable _oui_, if by this means he could sit close to her and watch her dimpled hands sorting out the papers, and hear her silvery, bird-like voice, with its soft accent, translating what was written in them into English. Especial pains did she take to make him understand about the money paid to Christine Bodine, and _why_ it was paid. “She was so kind to mother, who requested him to care for her. I’ve been reading all about it in mother’s letters to him,” she said, without lifting her eyes to his face, for in spite of herself and her avowed confidence in her father’s honor, there was in her heart a feeling of degradation when she remembered Tina, as if the shame, if shame there were, was in some way attaching to her, and robbing her of some of her self-respect. But Mr. Beresford had no suspicion of Tina, and only thought how lovely Queenie was and what a remarkable talent for understanding business she developed, as they went over the papers together and formed a pretty fair estimate of the value of the Hetherton estate. “Why there is over half a million, if all this is good,” she said, looking up at him with pleased surprise. “And I am so glad, for I like a great deal of money. I have always had it, and should not know what to do without it. I want a great deal for myself, and more for other people. I am going to give grandma some, because—well,” and Queenie hesitated a little, “because I was mean to her at the station when she claimed me; and I’m going to give some to Aunt Lydia, so she can afford to sell out her business which is so obnoxious to Anna, and if that girl down at the Vineyard proves to be my Margery, I shall give her money to buy Aunt Lydia out, and then I shall have her all to myself, and you’ll be falling in love with her—remember that! You’ll be in love with Margery La Rue the second time you see her!” “Margery La Rue! Who is she?” Mr. Beresford asked; and then came the story of Margery, mixed with so extravagant praises of the young lady that Mr. Beresford began to feel an interest in her, although the idea of falling in love with her was simply preposterous. Sensible as he was, Mr. Beresford had a great deal of foolish pride, and would have scouted the thought of a dressmaker ever becoming Mrs. Arthur Beresford. That lady was to be more like this dark-eyed fairy beside him, who chattered on, telling him what she meant to do with her half million, which it seemed was literally burning her fingers. She would give some to everybody who was poor and needed it, some to all the missionaries and churches, and even some to him, if he was ever straitened and wanted it.