"Millionaires!" exclaimed Reay--"Don't speak of them! I hate them!" Helmsley looked at him stedfastly. "It's best not to hate anybody,"--he said--"Millionaires are often the loneliest and most miserable of men." "They deserve to be!" declared Reay, hotly--"It isn't right--it isn't just that two or three, or let us say four or five men should be able to control the money-markets of the world. They generally get their wealth through some unscrupulous 'deal,' or through 'sweating' labour. I hate all 'cornering' systems. I believe in having enough to live upon, but not too much." "It depends on what you call enough,"--said Helmsley, slowly--"We're told that some people never know when they _have_ enough." "Why _this_ is enough!" said Reay, looking admiringly round the little kitchen in which they sat--"This sweet little cottage with this oak raftered ceiling, and all the dear old-fashioned crockery, and the ingle-nook over there,--who on earth wants more?" Mary laughed. "Oh dear me!" she murmured, gently--"You praise it too much!--it's only a very poor place, sir,----" He interrupted her, the colour rushing to his brows. "Please don't!" She glanced at him in surprise. "Don't--what?" "Don't call me 'sir'! I'm only a poor chap,--my father was a shepherd, and I began life as a cowherd--I don't want any titles of courtesy." She still kept her eyes upon him thoughtfully. "But you're a gentleman, aren't you?" she asked. "I hope so!" And he laughed. "Just as David is! But we neither of us wish the fact emphasised, do we, David? It goes without saying!" Helmsley smiled. This Angus Reay was a man after his own heart. "Of course it does!"--he said--"In the way you look at it! But you should tell Miss Deane all about yourself--she'll be interested." "Would you really care to hear?" enquired Reay, suddenly, turning his clear grey eyes full on Mary's face. "Why certainly I should!" she answered, frankly meeting his glance,--and then, from some sudden and inexplicable embarrassment, she blushed crimson, and her eyelids fell. And Reay thought what a clear, healthy skin she had, and how warmly the blood flowed under it. "Well, after tea I'll hold forth!" he said--"But there isn't much to tell. Such as there is, you shall know, for I've no mysteries about me. Some fellows love a mystery--I cannot bear it! Everything must be fair, open and above board with me,--else I can't breathe! Pouf!" And he expanded his broad chest and took a great gulp of air in as he spoke--"I hate a man who tries to hide his own identity, don't you, David?" "Yes--yes--certainly!" murmured Helmsley, absently, feigning to be absorbed in buttering a scone for his own eating--"It is often very awkward--for the man."