ngly, "you would have to wait more than two
years to save five hundred pounds."

"And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime."

"True," said Marian. "Of course, I see that it is impossible for you to
save anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of such
a sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments to
make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse last spring."

Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened.

Marian could think of no further expedient. She stood still, thinking,
whilst Conolly took up a bit of waste and polished a brass cylinder.

"Mr. Conolly," she said at last, "I cannot absolutely promise you; but I
think I can get you five hundred pounds." Conolly stopped polishing the
cylinder, and stared at her. "If I have not enough, I am sure we could
make the rest by a bazaar or something. I should like to begin to invest
my money; and if you make some great invention, like the telegraph or
steam engine, you will be able to pay it back to me, and to lend me
money when _I_ want it."

Conolly blushed. "Thank you, Miss Lind," said he, "thank you very much
indeed. I--It would be ungrateful of me to refuse; but I am not so ready
to begin my experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. My
estimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not satisfied that it is
not want of time and perseverance more than of money that is the real
obstacle. However, I will--I will--a----Have you any idea of the value
of money, Miss Lind? Have you ever had the handling of it?"

"Of course," said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction of
shaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. "I keep
house at home, and do all sorts of business things."

Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again as
if he had been looking for that; recollected himself; and looked
unintelligibly at her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was a
delightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. To her intense
disappointment, Lord Carbury entered just then, and roused her from what
was unaccountably like a happy dream.

Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of a
letter from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke's
handwriting. Miss McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where
she found Constance sitting with her arm around Marian's waist in a
summer-house.