Helen had the same blood in their veins. They
were alike in some essential traits. He knew that neither of them could
ever persuade himself, or herself, to mention that miserable ten-pound
note again.

"If I gave her a tenner," he said, "that would make her see as I'd
settled to forget that business, and let bygones _be_ bygones. I'll give
her a tenner."

It was preposterous. She could not, of course, spend it. She would put
it away. So it would not be wasted.

Upon this he rose.

Poor simpleton! Ever since the commencement of his relations with Helen,
surprise had followed surprise for him. And the series was not ended.

The idea of giving a gift made him quite nervous. He fumbled in his
cashbox for quite a long time, and then he called, nervously:

"Helen!"

She came out of the kitchen into the front room. (Dress: White
muslin--unspeakable extravagance in a town of smuts.)

"It's thy birthday, lass?"

She nodded, smiling.

"Well, tak' this."

He handed her a ten-pound note.

"Oh, thank you, uncle!" she cried, just on the calm side of
effusiveness.

At this point the surprise occurred.

There was another ten-pound note in the cashbox. His fingers went for a
stroll on their own account and returned with that note.

"Hold on!" he admonished her for jumping to conclusions. "And this!" And
he gave her a second note. He was much more startled than she was.

"Oh, _thank_ you, uncle!" And then, laughing: "Why, it's nearly a
sovereign for every year of my life!"

"How old art?"

"Twenty-six."

"I'm gone dotty!" he said to his soul. "I'm gone dotty!" And his eyes
watched his fingers take six sovereigns out of the box, and count them
into her small white hand. And his cheek felt her kiss.

She went off with twenty-six pounds--twenty-six pounds! The episode was
entirely incredible.

Breakfast was a most pleasing meal. Though acknowledging himself an
imbecile, he was obliged to acknowledge also that a certain pleasure
springs from a certain sort of imbecility. Helen was adorable.

Now that same morning he had received from Mrs. Prockter a flattering
note, asking him, if he could spare the time, to go up to Hillport and
examine Wilbraham Hall with her, and give her his expert advice as to
its value, etc. He informed Helen of the plan.

"I'll go with you," she said at once.

"What's in the wind?" he asked himself. He saw in the suggestion a
device for seeing Emanuel.

"The fact is," she added, "I