“Very modest, certainly; and probably, as the Sewells did attach this value, you gave it where it was fully appreciated.” “I wish I had never met them,” muttered Trafford; and though the words were mumbled beneath his breath, she heard them. “That sounds very ungratefully,” said she, with a smile, “if but one half of what we hear be true.” “What is it you have heard?” “I 'm keeping Major Trafford from his cigar, Tom; he's too punctilious to smoke in my company, and so I shall leave him to you;” and so saying, she arose, and turned towards the cottage. Trafford followed her on the instant, and overtook her at the porch. “One word,--only one,” cried he, eagerly. “I see how I have been misrepresented to you. I see what you must think of me; but will you only hear me?” “I have no right to hear you,” said she, coldly. “Oh, do not say so, Lucy,” cried he, trying to take her hand, but which she quickly withdrew from him. “Do not say that you withdraw from me the only interest that attaches me to life. If you knew how friendless I am, you would not leave me.” “He upon whom fortune smiles so pleasantly very seldom wants for any blandishments the world has to give; at least, I have always heard that people are invariably courteous to the prosperous.” “And do you talk of me as prosperous?” “Why, you are my brother's type of all that is luckiest in life. Only hear Tom on the subject! Hear him talk of his friend Trafford, and you will hear of one on whom all the good fairies showered their fairest gifts.” “The fairies have grown capricious, then. Has Tom told you nothing--I mean since he came back?” “No; nothing.” “Then let me tell it.” In very few words, and with wonderfully little emotion, Trafford told the tale of his altered fortunes. Of course he did not reveal the reasons for which he had been disinherited, but loosely implied that his conduct had displeased his father, and with his mother he had never been a favorite. “Mine,” said he, “is the vulgar story that almost every family has its instance of,--the younger son, who goes into the world with the pretensions of a good house, and forgets that he himself is as poor as the neediest man in the regiment. They grew weary of my extravagance, and, indeed, they began to get weary of myself, and I am not surprised at it! and the end has come at last. They have cast me off, and, except my commission, I have now nothing in the world. I told Tom all this, and his generous reply was, 'Your poverty only draws you nearer to us.' Yes, Lucy, these were his words. Do you think that his sister could have spoken them?” “'Before she could do so, she certainly should be satisfied on other grounds than those that touch your fortune,” said Lucy, gravely.