“Only think, I have not had a single tantrum yet, and we have been married two whole weeks,” she said to Phil on the day when he received his mother’s letter, to which she did not take kindly. “Do not let us go,” she said, nestling close to him, and laying her head on his arm. “I am having such a nice time here with you all to myself, where I can act just as silly as I please. Do not go home just yet. I shall not be half as good there as I am here.” So Phil wrote his mother not to expect him for a few weeks, as the mountain air was doing him a great deal of good, and he was growing stronger every day. The same mail which took this letter to Mrs. Rossiter carried one to Margery from Queenie, who wrote in raptures of her happiness as Phil’s wife, and begged Margery to come to Brierstone and see for herself. “There is such a pleasant chamber right across the hall from mine, which you can have,” she wrote, “and I want you here so much to see how happy we are, and how good I am getting to be.” And so one day early in September Margery came to Brierstone and took possession of the large, pleasant chamber opposite Queenie’s, into whose happiness and plans she entered heart and soul; and ten days after her arrival Mr. Beresford came to escort her home. It was a settled thing now, the marriage between Mr. Beresford and Margery, and the four talked the matter over together and decided some things to which, without Mr. Beresford and Phil, Queenie would never have consented. It was Margery’s wish that Queenie should share equally with her in their father’s estate. And as this was also the wish of Mr. Beresford, while Phil himself said he saw no objection to it, and that it was probably what Mr. Hetherton would wish, could he speak to them, Queenie consented and found herself an heiress again, with money enough to support herself and Phil, even if he had no _business_ or occupation. They talked that over, too, and Phil asked Queenie what she wished him to do. “The only time I ever tried in earnest to do anything I came near losing my life,” he said, “and so now I’ll let you decide for me. Shall I turn lawyer, or preacher, or dressmaker? I really have more talent for the latter than for anything else. I might, with a little practice, be a second Worth; or I should make a pretty good salesman of laces and silks in some dry-goods store. So which shall it be—preacher, dressmaker, or clerk? I am bound to earn my own living in some way.”