'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, perfectlyundisturbed 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's character seemed to have provoked
her beyond endurance.

'If you have any sense of shame in you,' she broke out, 'you ought
to be ashamed of what you have just said! Your ingratitude disgusts me.

I leave you to speak with her, Henry--you won't mind it!'
With this significant intimation that he too had dropped out of his

customary place in her good opinion, she left the room.
The nurse received the smart reproof administered to her with

every appearance of feeling rather amused by it than not.
When the door had closed, this femalephilosopher winked at Henry.

'There's a power of obstinacy in young women,' she remarked.
'Miss Agnes wouldn't give my lord up as a bad one, even when

he jilted her. And now she's sweet on him after he's dead.
Say a word against him, and she fires up as you see. All obstinacy!

It will wear out with time. Stick to her, Master Henry--
stick to her!'

'She doesn't seem to have offended you,' said Henry.
'She?' the nurse repeated in amazement--'she offend me?

I like her in her tantrums; it reminds me of her when she was a baby.
Lord bless you! when I go to bid her good-night, she'll give

me a big kiss, poor dear--and say, Nurse, I didn't mean it!
About this money, Master Henry? If I was younger I should

spend it in dress and jewellery. But I'm too old for that.
What shall I do with my legacy when I have got it?'

'Put it out at interest,' Henry suggested. 'Get so much a year for it,
you know.' 'How much shall I get?' the nurse asked.

'If you put your hundred pounds into the Funds, you will get
between three and four pounds a year.'

The nurse shook her head. 'Three or four pounds a year? That won't do!
I want more than that. Look here, Master Henry. I don't care about

this bit of money--I never did like the man who has left it to me,
though he was your brother. If I lost it all to-morrow, I shouldn't

break my heart; I'm well enough off, as it is, for the rest of my days.
They say you're a speculator. Put me in for a good thing,

there's a dear! Neck-or-nothing--and that for the Funds!'
She snapped her fingers to express her contempt for security of

investment at three per cent.
Henry produced the prospectus of the Venetian Hotel Company.

'You're a funny old woman,' he said. 'There, you dashingspeculator--
there is neck-or-nothing for you! You must keep it a secret from

Miss Agnes, mind. I'm not at all sure that she would approve of my
helping you to this investment.'

The nurse took out her spectacles. 'Six per cent. guaranteed,' she read;
'and the Directors have every reason to believe that ten per cent.,

or more, will be ultimately realised to the shareholders by the hotel.'
'Put me into that, Master Henry! And, wherever you go, for Heaven's

sake recommend the hotel to your friends!'
So the nurse, following Henry's mercenary example, had her

pecuniary interest, too, in the house in which Lord Montbarry had died.
Three days passed before Henry was able to visit Agnes again.

In that time, the little cloud between them had entirely passed away.
Agnes received him with even more than her customary kindness.

She was in better spirits than usual. Her letter to Mrs. Stephen
Westwick had been answered by return of post; and her proposal had

been joyfully accepted, with one modification. She was to visit
the Westwicks for a month--and, if she really liked teaching the children,

she was then to be governess, aunt, and cousin, all in one--
and was only to go away in an event which her friends in Ireland

persisted in contemplating, the event of her marriage.
'You see I was right,' she said to Henry.

He was still incredulous. 'Are you really going?' he asked.
'I am going next week.'

'When shall I see you again?'
'You know you are always welcome at your brother's house.

You can see me when you like.' She held out her hand. 'Pardon me
for leaving you--I am beginning to pack up already.'

Henry tried to kiss her at parting. She drew back directly.
'Why not? I am your cousin,' he said.

'I don't like it,' she answered.
Henry looked at her, and submitted. Her refusal to grant him his

privilege as a cousin was a good sign--it was indirectly an act
of encouragement to him in the character of her lover.

On the first day in the new week, Agnes left London on her way to Ireland.
As the event proved, this was not destined to be the end of her journey.

The way to Ireland was only the first stage on a roundabout road--
the road that led to the palace at Venice.

THE THIRD PART
CHAPTER XIII

In the spring of the year 1861, Agnes was established at the country-seat
of her two friends--now promoted (on the death of the first lord,

without offspring) to be the new Lord and Lady Montbarry.
The old nurse was not separated from her mistress. A place,

suited to her time of life, had been found for her in the pleasant
Irish household. She was perfectly happy in her new sphere;

and she spent her first half-year's dividend from the Venice
Hotel Company, with characteristic prodigality, in presents for

the children.
Early in the year, also, the Directors of the life insurance offices

submitted to circumstances, and paid the ten thousand pounds.
Immediately afterwards, the widow of the first Lord Montbarry

(otherwise, the dowager Lady Montbarry) left England, with Baron Rivar,
for the United States. The Baron's object was announced, in the scientific

columns of the newspapers, to be investigation into the present
state of experimentalchemistry in the great American republic.

His sister informed inquiring friends that she accompanied him,
in the hope of findingconsolation in change of scene after the bereavement

that had fallen on her. Hearing this news from Henry Westwick
(then paying a visit at his brother's house), Agnes was conscious

of a certain sense of relief. 'With the Atlantic between us,'
she said, 'surely I have done with that terrible woman now!'

Barely a week passed after those words had been spoken, before an
event happened which reminded Agnes of 'the terrible woman'

once more.
On that day, Henry's engagements had obliged him to return to London.

He had ventured, on the morning of his departure, to press his
suit once more on Agnes; and the children, as he had anticipated,

proved to be innocent obstacles in the way of his success.
On the other hand, he had privately secured a firm ally in his

sister-in-law. 'Have a little patience,' the new Lady Montbarry
had said, 'and leave me to turn the influence of the children

in the right direction. If they can persuade her to listen to you--
they shall!'

The two ladies had accompanied Henry, and some other guests
who went away at the same time, to the railway station,

and had just driven back to the house, when the servant announced
that 'a person of the name of Rolland was waiting to see her ladyship.'

'Is it a woman?'
'Yes, my lady.'

Young Lady Montbarry turned to Agnes.