These ideas occurred to Margaret only in the vaguest way, nor even in William Henry’s mind did they take any well-defined shape. His nature, to do him justice, was by no means mercenary, and, if he could only have called Margaret his own, he would have been content. As to being able to maintain her he had always had a good opinion of his own talents; and though the praise with which he was now overwhelmed from so many quarters had, of course, no reference to them, it helped to increase his self-confidence. In this comparative prosperity, and being of a disposition that was by no means inclined to triumph over an unsuccessful rival, it somewhat distressed him to find Frank Dennis standing somewhat aloof. He visited the house, indeed, but not so frequently as had been his wont, and, as regarded William Henry at least, not upon the same terms. He had always been friendly to the younger man under circumstances when it would have been excusable if he had been otherwise, but now he avoided him; not in any marked manner, but certainly with intention. If he had avoided Margaret also, the explanation would have been easy, but it was not so. He was not, indeed, on the same terms with that young lady as he had been; he did not, as of old, seek her society; his face did not brighten up as it was wont to do when she addressed him; but he treated her with a respect which, if it was not tender, was full of gentleness: whereas, to William Henry he was even cold. It was a significant proof of the transformation that had taken place in Mr. Erin that he not only noticed this, but in a manner apologised for it to William Henry. ‘I am sorry to see that Dennis and you, my lad, don’t seem to get on together so well as you used to do. But you must not mind his being a little jealous.’ At this the young man’s face flushed, for ‘jealousy’ had just then with him but one meaning: he thought that his father was about to talk with him about Margaret, but his niece was not in the old man’s thoughts at all. ‘It is not every one,’ he went on, ‘who can bear to see the good fortune of his friends with equanimity; especially when it takes the form of such a stroke of luck, as in your case. What Dennis says to himself is: “Why should not I have discovered these MSS. instead of William Henry?” And not having done so, he is a little bit envious of you, and is inclined to decry them. It is a pity, of course, but he can do you no more harm by it than he can harm Shakespeare by discrediting the work of his hand.’