to declare her love for him. But the hours between luncheon
and dinner might have been a sufficient prolongation of the period of
their acquaintance. George, however, had not repeated the question;
and had, indeed, not been alone with her for five minutes during the
afternoon.

That evening, Wilkinson again warned his friend that he might be
going too far with Mrs. Cox; that he might say that which he could
neither fulfil nor retract. For Wilkinson clearly conceived it to be
impossible that Bertram should really intend to marry this widow.

"And why should I not marry her?" said George.

"She would not suit you, nor make you happy."

"What right have I to think that any woman will suit me? or what
chance is there that any woman will make me happy? Is it not all
leather and prunella? She is pretty and clever, soft and feminine.
Where shall I find a nicer toy to play with? You forget, Arthur, that
I have had my day-dreams, and been roused from them somewhat roughly.
With you, the pleasure is still to come."

After this they turned in and went to bed.

CHAPTER X.

REACHING HOME.

Early in their journeyings together, Mrs. Cox had learned from
George that he was possessed of an eccentric old uncle; and not long
afterwards, she had learned from Arthur that this uncle was very
rich, that he was also childless, and that he was supposed to be very
fond of his nephew. Putting all these things together, knowing that
Bertram had no profession, and thinking that therefore he must be
a rich man, she had considered herself to be acting with becoming
prudence in dropping Major Biffin for his sake.

But on the day after the love scene recorded in the last chapter, a
strange change came over the spirit of her dream. "I am a very poor
man," Bertram had said to her, after making some allusion to what had
taken place.

"If that were all, that would make no difference with me," said Mrs.
Cox, magnanimously.

"If that were all, Annie! What does that mean?"

"If I really loved a man, I should not care about his being poor. But
your poverty is what I should call riches, I take it."

"No, indeed. My poverty is absolute poverty. My own present income is
about two hundred a year."

"Oh, I don't understand the least about money myself. I never did.
I was such a child when I was married to Cox. But I thought, Mr.
Bertram, your uncle was very rich."

"So he is; as rich as a gold-mine. But we are not very good
friends--at