“My dear Mrs. Driscoll, they are not worth half a crown. But I will be generous. It is one's duty to be generous to the poor and needy. I will give you five shillings.” “Very well, sir,” said the old woman. The bargain was concluded, and Mr. Usher went out a very happy man. For a green, unused 7 1/2d. Canada postage stamp, as all philatelists know, will fetch some eight or nine pounds, if judiciously put on the market, and Mr. Usher had a beautiful specimen already in his collection. Fortune was really smiling on him this morning. He reached Matthew Lanyon's office in a seraphic temper, which a quarter of an hour's wait did not ruffle. When Mr. Lanyon's client had departed, he was shown into the office, where Matthew was seated at his desk. “I thought you would come,” said Matthew, without further greeting. “Sit down.” “You are not looking at all well, my dear friend,” said Usher. “You should really take care of yourself. I always say it is wrong for a man to let his business affairs get the upper hand with him.” It was true. Matthew had been ailing considerably of late, and his doctor had urged him to do a number of impossible things,--to go for a sea voyage, to reduce his practice, to take a partner. He was killing himself. He must stop, or human science wouldn't answer for the consequences. “Human science can wait till she's asked,” the old man had replied with a certain humour. The past year had aged him considerably. His hair was greyer, his figure slightly bent, his face and hands thinner, his brow more care worn. Characteristically he had told Sylvester of none of his ailments, and during the weekends Sylvester had spent at Woodlands, he had made special efforts to appear bright and strong. When Sylvester, anxiously informed by his aunt, questioned him, he had laughed in his cheery way, but with a touch of petulance, and asked how he, a man of science, could attribute any importance to Agatha's silly whimsies. He was not the man to be fond of pity, even from those dearest to him; _a fortiori_, he found Usher's sympathy particularly obnoxious. “I'm exceedingly well,” he said somewhat irritably. “Better than I have been for months.” “Perhaps the pleasant news has cheered you,” said Usher. “There is nothing like the happiness of others to make the heart young again. I am always rejoiced at the happiness of others. It is my nature.” He said it with such an air of dull simplicity, uttering each vocable with weighty deliberation, that a smile flickered around Matthew's lips. “I really think you believe it.” “I never disguise my sentiments. Falsehood is abhorrent to me.” “Rubbish!” said Matthew, curtly. “I'm busy. I can only give you ten minutes. What have you come for?” “To share your happiness in the engagement of our dear children,--my son, your ward.” “I am not pleased at all. Even you ought to know that.” “Not pleased?” “No. A marriage like that is an impossibility.” Usher opened his eyes in reproachful astonishment.