reply did not appear to satisfy Agnes. 'Why is the hotel called
the "Palace Hotel"?' she inquired.

Henry looked at her, and at once penetrated her motive for asking the
question. 'Yes,' he said, 'it is the palace that Montbarry hired at
Venice; and it has been purchased by the Company to be changed into an
hotel.'

Agnes turned away in silence, and took a chair at the farther end of
the room. Henry had disappointed her. His income as a younger son
stood in need, as she well knew, of all the additions that he could
make to it by successful speculation. But she was unreasonable enough,
nevertheless, to disapprove of his attempting to make money already out
of the house in which his brother had died. Incapable of understanding
this purely sentimental view of a plain matter of business, Henry
returned to his papers, in some perplexity at the sudden change in the
manner of Agnes towards him. Just as he found the letter of which he
was in search, the nurse made her appearance. He glanced at Agnes,
expecting that she would speak first. She never even looked up when
the nurse came in. It was left to Henry to tell the old woman why the
bell had summoned her to the drawing-room.

'Well, nurse,' he said, 'you have had a windfall of luck. You have had
a legacy left you of a hundred pounds.'

The nurse showed no outward signs of exultation. She waited a little
to get the announcement of the legacy well settled in her mind--and
then she said quietly, 'Master Henry, who gives me that money, if you
please?'

'My late brother, Lord Montbarry, gives it to you.' (Agnes instantly
looked up, interested in the matter for the first time. Henry went
on.) 'His will leaves legacies to the surviving old servants of the
family. There is a letter from his lawyers, authorising you to apply
to them for the money.'

In every class of society, gratitude is the rarest of all human
virtues. In the nurse's class it is extremely rare. Her opinion of
the man who had deceived and deserted her mistress remained the same
opinion still, perfectly undisturbed by the passing circumstance of the
legacy.

'I wonder who reminded my lord of the old servants?' she said. 'He
would never have heart enough to remember them himself!'

Agnes suddenly interposed. Nature, always abhorring monotony,
institutes reserves of temper as elements in the composition of the
gentlest women living. Even Agnes could, on rare occasions, be angry.
The nurse's view of Montbarry