The fortunate possessor of thirteen millions--dollars--got out of the carriage when it stopped. He looked round him. On the steps of the hotel the people drew back, hushed and awed. "John Haveril!" he heard, in whispers. He smiled. It is always a pleasure _monstrari digito_. He marched up the steps and into the hall, leaving his wife to follow alone. This lady, whom we have already met in the doctor's consultation-room, was dressed in the splendour that belonged to her position. It is useless to have thirteen millions of dollars if you do not spend some of them in proclaiming the fact by silks and satins, lace and embroidery, chains of gold and glittering jewels. Mr. Haveril liked to see his wife in costly array. What wife would not willingly respond to such a pleasing taste in a husband? On this point, at least, the married couple's hearts beat as one--in unison. Mrs. Haveril, therefore, ought to have enjoyed nothing so much as the triumphal march across the hall, with all the people gazing upon her as the thrice happy, the four times happy, the pride of her country, the millionairess. I do not think that she ever, under any circumstances, got the full flavour out of her wealth. You have seen her with the doctor; a constant anxiety weighed her down; she was weak in body and troubled in mind. She was no happier with the millions than if they had been hundreds. Moreover, she was always a simple woman, contented with simple ways--one to whom footmen, waiters, and grand dinners were a weariness. With her pale, delicate face, and sad soft eyes, she looked more like a nun in disguise than a woman rolling in gold. Their rooms were, of course, on the first floor; such rooms, so furnished, as became such guests. Parcels, opened and unopened, were lying about on the tables and chairs, for they had only as yet been two or three days in London, and, therefore, had only begun to buy things. Tickets for theatres, cards of visitors, invitations to dinner, had already begun to flow in. A waiter followed them upstairs, bearing a tray on which were cards, envelopes with names, and bits of paper with names. Mrs. Haveril turned them over. "John," she said, "I do believe these are my cousins. They've found us out pretty soon." It was, in fact, only the day after the arrivals were put in the papers. John turned over the cards. "Humph!" he said. "Now, Alice, before these people come, let us make up our minds what we are going to do for them. What brings them? Is it money, or is it love?" "I'm afraid it's money. Still, when one has been away for five and twenty years, it does seem hard not to see one's cousins again. 'Tisn't as if we came back beggars, John." "That's just it. If we had, we shouldn't have been in this hotel. And they wouldn't be calling upon us." "They're all waiting down below." "Let 'em wait. What are we to do, Alice? They want money. Are you going to give 'em money?" "It isn't my money, John. It's yours."