“That will never do, you will never be able to live upon that; the interest of Lady Anne Stanley’s fortune, I know what it was, would just do for pocket-money for you in the style of life for which you have been educated. Some of your uncle’s great friends will of course invite you presently, and then you will find what is requisite with that set of people.” “Some of my uncle’s friends perhaps will,” said Helen; “but I am not obliged to go to great or fine people, and if I cannot afford it I will not, for I can live independently on what I have, be it ever so little.” Mrs. Collingwood allowed that if Helen were to live always in the country in retirement, she might do upon her mother’s fortune. “Wherever I live--whatever becomes of me, the debts must be paid--I will do it myself;” and she took up a pen as she spoke--“I will write to Mr. James by this day’s post.” Surprised at her decision of manner and the firmness of one in general so gentle, yielding, and retired, and feeling that he had no legal power to resist, Mr. Collingwood at last gave way, so far as to agree that he would in due time use this money in satisfying her uncle’s creditors; _provided she lived for the next six months within her income_. Helen smiled, as if that were a needless proviso. “I warn you,” continued Mr. Collingwood, “that you will most probably find before six months are over, that you will want some of this money to pay debts of your own.” “No, no, no,” cried she; “of that there is not the slightest chance.” “And now, my dear child,” said Mrs. Collingwood, “now that Mr. Collingwood has promised to do what you wish, will you do what we wish? Will you promise to remain with us? to live here with us, for the present at least; we will resign you whenever better friends may claim you, but for the present will you try us?” “Try!” in a transport of gratitude and affection she could only repeat the words “Try! oh, my dear friends, how happy I am, an orphan, without a relation, to have such a home.” But though Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood, childless as they were, felt real happiness in having such a companion--such an adopted daughter, yet they were sure that some of Dean Stanley’s great friends and acquaintance in high life would ask his niece to spend the spring in town, or the summer in the country with them; and post after post came letters of condolence to Miss Stanley from all these personages of high degree, professing the greatest regard for their dear amiable friend’s memory, and for Miss Stanley, his and their dear Helen; and these polite and kind expressions were probably sincere at the moment, but none of these dear friends seemed to think of taking any trouble on her account, or to be in the least disturbed by the idea of never seeing their dear Helen again in the course of their lives.