ere to try and were to
succeed, you would certainly lower her character, and having done
this, you could not say she would be a better girl in prosperity than
in adversity."

"You are so particular, Arthur," half grumbled Mrs. Ellsworthy; "you
must have forgotten your own very poor days, or you would not speak so
warmly for adversity."

"I don't quite forget them," said Arthur, a cloud coming over his
face, which was a particularly bright one. "I have a dim memory about
them, and a very, very dim memory about a mother and an old nurse, who
loved me very much. I can just recall crying night after night for my
mother, and being beaten, and silenced, and half starved. Then I
suppose I was ill, for I know there is a blank which I never can fill
up; but I shall always remember that day when I stood in the snowy
street, and cried so bitterly, and tried to ask for pennies, and how
my hat blew off, and I ran to catch it, and then--"

"Oh, it was horrible!" said Mrs. Ellsworthy, covering her face with
her hands. "I shudder at it even now--the coachman could not keep the
horses in, and they went over you, and we thought you were killed. You
were lifted into the carriage--such a ragged, thin little figure,
with such a lovely face. You came to--you were not so badly hurt--it
was nothing short of a miracle, for you ought to have been almost
killed. My brother Arthur was with me, and when you opened your eyes
you stretched out your arms to him. He just took you to his heart on
the spot, and you were his son from that day forward. Well, Arthur, I
don't think, prosperity has done you any harm."

"I had no choice," said Noel. "Prosperity came to me as God's gift. It
so happens that I am now a rich man and I suppose even rich people can
find their mission. The girls at present are poor; our cases are in no
way parallel. Oh! how gladly I would help them, but believe me, I
would help them to keep their independence."

Mrs. Ellsworthy frowned.

"If you are going to thwart me, Arthur, I am done," she said.

"Can you not help them without adopting them?" asked Arthur.

"Oh! my dear boy, what am I to do? I know lots of influential people,
but I can't go to them and say, 'I know three charming girls; they are
all as ignorant as possible; they don't know any of our manners and
customs; they are not educated up to the required standard; they are
fearfully independent. Will you, my dear friend, take the eldest into
your family, and give