wonderfully dainty meal, served in wonderful vessels of glass and china
and silver, and marble and gold and flowers to help the effect. I could
have dreamed myself into a fairy tale, often, if it had not been for
the people."

"Life is not a fairy tale," said Mrs. Armadale somewhat severely.

"No, grandmother; and so the humanity present generally reminded me.
But the illusion for a minute was delightful."

"Is there any harm in making it as much like a fairy tale as we can?"

Some of the little courtesies and hospitalities of the table came in
here, and Mr. Dillwyn's question received no answer. His eye went round
the table. No, clearly these people did not live in fairyland, and as
little in the search after it. Good, strong, sensible, practical faces;
women that evidently had their work to do, and did it; habitual energy
and purpose spoke in every one of them, and purpose _attained_. Here
was no aimless dreaming or fruitless wishing. The old lady's face was
sorely weather-beaten, but calm as a ship in harbour. Charity was
homely, but comfortable. Madge and Lois were blooming in strength and
activity, and as innocent apparently of any vague, unfulfilled longings
as a new-blown rose. Only when Mr. Dillwyn's eye met Mrs. Barclay's he
was sensible of a different record. He half sighed. The calm and the
rest were not there.

The talk rambled on. Mr. Dillwyn made him self exceedingly pleasant;
told of things he had seen in his travels, things and people, and ways
of life; interesting even Mrs. Armadale with a sort of fascinated
interest, and gaining, he knew, no little share of her good-will. So,
just as the meal was ending, he ventured to bring forward the old
subject again.

"You will pardon me, Mrs. Armadale," he began,--"but you are the first
person I ever met who did not value money."

"Perhaps I am the first person you ever met who had something better."

"You mean--?" said Philip, with a look of inquiry. "I do not
understand."

"I have treasure in heaven."

"But the coin of that realm is not current here?--and we are _here_."

"That coin makes me rich now; and I take it with me when I go," said
the old lady, as she rose from the table.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

UNDER AN UMBRELLA.

Mrs. Barclay returned to her own room, and Mr. Dillwyn was forced to
follow her. The door was shut between them and the rest of the
household. Mrs. Barclay trimmed her fire, and her guest looked on
absently. Then they