It was a simple, loving scrawl—Grace wrote an abominable hand—and told how earnestly the writer hoped Nettie would be happy, and how she wished she could go and see her, and how she sent a little token by which Nettie would know she was not forgotten; and how, thinking there must be many things Nettie might want to buy in the way of dress, she enclosed her some money, which she hoped Nettie would take from her as if she was her sister. Nothing could have been more tenderly or delicately worded—there was not a sentence, not a syllable in the letter which could have given offence to any one who happened to be in a better frame of mind than was Mrs. Brady’s case when she received it. Never before, Mrs. Hartley felt, had she quite appreciated Grace Moffat. Certainly there was a sweetness and softness about her mentally which Nettie lacked. “You did not stand in need of this money,” she said, folding up the letter and returning it, “or else you never could have resented a kindness so gracefully offered, or the feeling which prompted that kindness. What was the amount of her enclosure?” “Fifty pounds,” answered Nettie, slowly and reluctantly. “Upon my word, Miss Grace, when you come into your own, you will do things right royally!” remarked Mrs. Hartley. She was astonished at the idea of Miss Moffat proffering such a sum, and yet while blaming the girl’s reckless generosity, as she privately styled it, she was touched by it sensibly. Middle-aged people, who, having learned the value of money, look at a shilling twice before they spend sixpence, are not always displeased at the spectacle of a lavish liberality on the part of young folks. Nevertheless, she intended to remonstrate with Miss Moffat, to point out the evil and folly of her pecuniary ways, and read her a lecture, which she well knew beforehand would be answered with many an “Ah, no!” and “Dear Mrs. Hartley,” and “Well, but,” and earnest excuse and playful protest, uttered by that soft, sweet, stealing voice which was—the Englishwoman confessed it with shame—almost reconciling her to the Irish accent. “If you really do not require the money, Nettie, I should return the whole or part of it,” said Mrs. Hartley, forgetful apparently of the statement Mrs. Brady had made when the subject of Grace was first broached. “I cannot,” Nettie answered. “What, spent it all already!” “No,” she replied; “I have given it away,” and once again the tell-tale colour flamed in Nettie’s cheeks. No good purpose was to be served in continuing that conversation, so Mrs. Hartley immediately guessed, and changed it. “Grace has refused John Riley,” she began. “So I hear.” “How did you hear it?” “John told me, and I am very sorry. I did not say I was sorry to Grace because she might not believe me, but I am. She will never meet with any person one half so fond of her for herself as John.”