vagance of
their moneyed classes amounts to profligacy. Hallett's father was a
notorious example for many years, then--just as Edward came of age,
there was a colossal smash; he lost everything, practically fretted
himself to death, left the lad to fight his own way.

"To expect the boy to understand economy after such an upbringing was
preposterous. He literally did not understand the value of money. He
got into debt, more and more deeply into debt, as the years went on. I
am not defending him as blameless; of course, he should have pulled up,
faced the worst, and started afresh; but I do say that it was a hard
test, and that he had many excuses."

I nodded. Ideas of economy, like most other ideas, are comparative. I
have never known fabulous riches, but I should manage badly as a poor
woman. Up to this point I could sympathise with Edward Hallett. Mr
Thorold continued eagerly:--

"Well! just when matters were at their worst, a casual acquaintance
happened to speak of a young English heiress, and it occurred to Edward
for the first time that marriage might cut the knot. He arranged to
meet the girl--it was a deliberate plan. Ah! I see you have heard her
story; but what she evidently _did_ not, would not, understand, was,
that when they did meet, he fell in love with her for herself! She was
his mate, his ideal, the one woman in the world who had power to awake
his best self; to make him selfless, and in earnest about life. He was
overcome with shame at the remembrance of his own scheming. At one time
he believed it to be his duty to punish himself by leaving her without
saying a word, but his passion was too strong, and circumstances hurried
on the marriage. Her aunt died--"

"Yes. She told me. Oh, but _why_ did he pretend? _Why_ didn't he tell
her that he knew about the money?"

His face fretted into lines. He looked terribly distressed.

"Ah! that hits me hard. He wrote to me, Miss Harding--we had kept up a
correspondence at intervals since our school days--and he had an
exaggerated faith in my advice. His conscience was torturing him. He
put the whole case to me. Should he tell her--should he confess? He
hated the idea of marrying under false pretences. On the other hand he
hated, as any lover would hate, to lower her opinion, perhaps to plant
the seeds of future suspicions. Her silence as to her own wealth seemed
to show that she had dreaded a mercenary love, that it was sweet to her