Eugene pointed to the old worn-out farm-house, on The Great Bell, and told him all he knew of Mary Kingman, which was more than the reader yet knows. “Now, Hungerford, I must do you the justice to say that I was wrong in my estimate of your position,” continued Dick Birch, when the story was told. “I think you don’t mean to avoid marriage on account of that condition in your uncle’s will.” “I do not.” “But I fear that you will be so cramped by it, that the fair lady of your castle on the isle may die an old maid for all you will do to save her. Mind, I don’t say you will be so cramped and influenced; I only say, I fear it--fear it; that’s all.” “I hope not.” “There is not a particle of danger that you will do anything from mercenary motives; but you must study to avoid the other extreme--that of cheating yourself out of a loving, beautiful, and accomplished wife, from the very fear of taking her at a price. But, Hungerford, you haven’t told me what you are going to do with your money, though you have hinted that you intend to be a universal philanthropist.” “I distinctly said that I had no intention of ‘setting up’ as a philanthropist. Your knight errant of philanthropy is just as ridiculous to me as the veritable hero of Salamanca. There are as many Don Quixotes among the reformers of the age, as in any other class.” “Good!” “By a most astounding turn of events, I find myself in possession of an enormous income. I shall be worth at least a million when I am thirty, and possibly three millions.” “Probably,” laughed Dick. “Well, probably, then; but it will only increase my responsibility. I don’t want to prate about even what I sincerely feel, but, in view of this immense wealth, I regard myself as the almoner of God’s bounty. I say this to you in the privacy of our friendship, Dick; I shouldn’t be willing to tell it, or to have it told, in town meeting, or even in the church. You understand me, Dick.” “I do, my dear fellow;” and the idea was so lofty and grand, that Dick could not help casting a glance of admiration at his friend. “It is no affectation for me to say to you that I value this money only for the good it will do to me and to others.” “I know you well enough to believe it, Hungerford.” “But I am not bigoted, Dick. I don’t intend to become a professional philanthropist. I am going to be selfish enough to look out for myself first. I am going to build as fine a house on Pine Hill as a man worth half a million ought to live in; one, say, that will cost twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars. Then I shall employ at least a hundred men for the next year upon the Pine Hill grounds, which I shall transform into a kind of Central Park. This will give employment to a small army of mechanics and laborers. This is my first scheme of philanthropy.” “It is a very sensible one.” “I shall lay out this work, and then, while it is in progress, go to Europe for six months or a year.”