“No, no, I will manage all your money for you until you come of age. This is only for your dress and pocket money. I shall give you another cheque to the same amount in six months’ time. It will be well for you to learn the value of things and to get into the way of keeping accounts. By the bye, though I say so much about its not mattering what you wear in Switzerland you must be sure to take good strong boots. You know Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming with us?” “Yes,” said Evereld, “I’m very glad.” “Well, good-night, my dear. God bless you,” said Sir Matthew. “Tell them I shall not be in till late.” Evereld having delivered her message, went slowly upstairs to the school-room, the most homelike place in the whole house. Here she found Bridget sitting by the open window with her knitting. “My new life has begun, Bridget,” she said, taking her usual place on her old nurse’s lap. “Look, here is money, a heap of it. I am to go out and buy thick-soled boots to-morrow with it, and an account book. Bridget, did you ever keep accounts? And do you ever think it’s allowable to cook them?” “I can’t say, dearie, I never kept any at all, excepting it was the savings bank book which the post office clerks keep for one.” “Sir Matthew says I must learn how to manage money and to understand the value of things,” said Evereld. “So we will go out to-morrow morning, Bridget, together, and I shall choose you a black silk dress by way of learning.” “Why then, dearie, it’s for your own dress and not for mine that you must be spending this upon,” protested Bridget. “It’s to do what I like with, Nursie, and I like to get you the very nicest gown we can find,” said Evereld. “Well, well, dearie, you were always one to think of other folk first, and if you will be getting me a dress, let it be a black poplin for the sake of the old country.” So Bridget and her young mistress set forth the next morning and chose the best Irish poplin, warranted to wear for a life-time, and Evereld changed her cheque into twenty crisp five pound notes, eighteen of which Bridget securely sewed up for her that evening in an inner pocket. “There’s many things you may be wanting to buy if you come back through Paris,” she said, “let alone its being a bad plan to leave the money behind you here.” Evereld sighed a little; it somehow hurt her to remember that she had all this money for her personal wants and fancies, while Ralph thought himself extremely lucky to be earning three pounds a week. She had, however, a shrewd suspicion that he perhaps found more satisfaction out of the money he had honestly worked for, and she eagerly looked forward to the time when they could share her fortune and make it of real use.