“A wife,” Scarlett Trent repeated with contempt, “and all the rest of it of course. Oh, what poor donkeys you young men are! Here are you, with your way to make in the world, with your foot scarcely upon the bottom rung of the ladder, grubbing along on a few bob a week, and you choose to go and chuck away every chance you ever might have for a moment's folly. A poor, pretty face I suppose. A moonlight walk on a Bank Holiday, a little maudlin sentiment, and over you throw all your chances in life. No wonder the herd is so great, and the leaders so few,” he added, with a sneer. The young man raised his head. Once more the pink spot was burning. Yet how hard to be dignified with the man from whom comes one's daily bread. “You are mistaken, sir,” he said. “I am quite happy and quite satisfied.” Scarlett Trent laughed scornfully. “Then you don't look it,” he exclaimed. “I may not, sir,” the young man continued, with a desperate courage, “but I am. After all happiness is spelt with different letters for all of us. You have denied yourself--worked hard, carried many burdens and run great risks to become a millionaire. I too have denied myself, have worked and struggled to make a home for the girl I cared for. You have succeeded and you are happy. I can hold Edith's--I beg your pardon, my wife's hand in mine and I am happy. I have no ambition to be a millionaire. I was very ambitious to win my wife.” Scarlett Trent looked at him for a moment open mouthed and open-eyed. Then he laughed outright and a chill load fell from the heart of the man who for a moment had forgotten himself. The laugh was scornful perhaps, but it was not angry. “Well, you've shut me up,” he declared. “You seem a poor sort of a creature to me, but if you're content, it's no business of mine. Here buy yourself an overcoat, and drink a glass of wine. I'm off!” He rose from his seat and threw a bank-note over the table. The clerk opened it and handed it back with a little start. “I am much obliged to you, sir,” he said humbly, “but you have made a mistake. This note is for fifty pounds.” Trent glanced at it and held out his hand. Then he paused. “Never mind,” he said, with a short laugh, “I meant to give you a fiver, but it don't make much odds. Only see that you buy some new clothes.” The clerk half closed his eyes and steadied himself by grasping the back of a chair. There was a lump in his throat in earnest now. “You--you mean it, sir?” he gasped. “I--I'm afraid I can't thank you!” “Don't try, unless you want me to take it back,” Trent said, strolling to the sideboard. “Lord, how those City chaps can guzzle! Not a drop of champagne left. Two unopened bottles though! Here, stick 'em in your bag and take 'em to the missis, young man. I paid for the lot, so there's no use leaving any. Now clear out as quick as you can. I'm off!” “You will allow me, sir--”