"You must find yourself a wife,"--she said--"And then you'll see how you like it." "But wives don't make any fuss over their husbands it seems to me," replied Reay--"At any rate in London, where I have lived for the past five years--husbands seem to be the last persons in the world whom their wives consider. I don't think I shall ever marry." "I'm sure _I_ shan't,"--said Mary, smiling--and as she spoke, she bent over the fire, and threw a fresh log of wood on to keep up the bright glow which was all that illuminated the room, from which almost every pale glimmer of the twilight had now departed--"I'm an old maid. But I was an engaged girl once!" Helmsley lifted up his head with sudden and animated interest. "Were you, Mary?" "Oh, yes!" And the smile deepened round her expressive mouth and played softly in her eyes--"Yes, David, really! I was engaged to a very good-looking young man in the electrical engineering business. And I was very fond of him. But when my father lost every penny, my good-looking young man went too. He said he couldn't possibly marry a girl with nothing but the clothes on her back. I cried very much at the time, and thought my heart was broken. But--it wasn't!" "I should hope it wouldn't break for such a selfish rascal!" said Reay, warmly. "Do you think he was more selfish than most?" queried Mary, thoughtfully--"There's a good many who would do as he did." A silence followed. She sat down and resumed her work. "Have you finished your story?" she asked Reay--"It has interested me so much that I'm hoping there's some more to tell." As she spoke to him he started as if from a dream. He had been watching her so earnestly that he had almost forgotten what he had previously been talking about. He found himself studying the beautiful outline of her figure, and wondering why he had never before seen such gracious curves of neck and shoulder, waist and bosom as gave symmetrical perfection of shape to this simple woman born of the "common" people.